


Hazelbrook Grammar

by SansPellegrino



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Like really minor, Minor Character Death, Multi, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, some trigger warnings but i've put those in each individual chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-02-13 10:14:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 173,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2146896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SansPellegrino/pseuds/SansPellegrino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sergeant James Barnes is an ex-military sniper from Brooklyn who starts a new job teaching history at Hazelbrook Grammar School. It's a long story.</p><p>Within just two hours of being there he meets an old friend, makes some new ones, and manages to develop a crush on the PE teacher. But of course, much like everything else in his life, it was never going to be that simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No One Calls Me James

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there everybody
> 
> i hope you don't hate this :D
> 
> -cat
> 
> ps: you can find me on tumblr at [macbeth-no](http://macbeth-no.tumblr.com)

As Bucky stepped out of his busted up old Vauxhall and lifted the cardboard boxes full of classroom supplies out of the backseat, the reality of the situation finally hit him.

From now on, he was going to be teaching at a private school.

A private _grammar_ school, nonetheless.

There'd be uniforms, and rules that the students actually have to follow, and a decent sex education system. The pay was better, the holidays longer, and as for the _location_ -

Bucky stared up at the huge stone building in front of him; the one that looked like Charles Xavier's place in X-Men. The surrounding lawns were perfectly cut, the hedges trimmed, and neat rows of flowers lined the steps that lead up to the front door, above which was a sign that read in clear, black print:

**HAZELBROOK GRAMMAR SCHOOL**

**Ages 12-18**

**Reception This Way**

Bucky blinked, shifting the heavy boxes up in his arms. It looked kind of... Posh. 

He was beginning to be glad he wore his nice suit. The charcoal grey one, to be precise, the one that his sister had once said 'brings out the predatory asshole in your eyes'.

He swallowed thickly as he took in his surroundings, which were a lot more… Upper class, than he had pictured in his head. But no matter. He'd taken the job because, hell, this had been the best offer he was ever going to get, and he'd been dying for an opportunity to leave the Public Hellhole and Attractor of Demon Spawn that had been East Brooklyn High.

The last straw had been when one of his fellow teachers had been arrested for child molesting.

That had officially been the end of Bucky's rope.

He had to get out of there. And this- well, this place was definitely a step up.

But he couldn't deny the tiny prick of insecurity he felt as he glanced back at his shitty car, parked right in-between an expensive-looking Prius and a silver Mercedes. He was so, _so_ out of his comfort zone with this one.

"Oh well. Too late now. Keep calm and carry on, as the British supposedly say," Bucky muttered to himself, clearing his throat loudly to gather his thoughts.

He glanced down at himself, absently pulling on his tie, wondering if he really needed it.

 _Start as you mean to go on, Barnes_ , he told himself firmly.

He chewed on his lip, thinking for a few seconds, before sighing and dropping his boxes on the floor. He tugged off the thin black tie and chucked it into the passenger seat of his car, before reaching up and undoing the top two buttons on his crisp white shirt.

Start as you mean to go on, right?

He gave himself a quick once-over in the reflection on his car, running one hand through his cropped dark hair and straightening the lapels on his jacket. Much better.

He managed- barely- to lock his car and shove the keys in his pocket without dropping the cardboard boxes clutched firmly in his arms. He took a deep breath, and began to make his way up the steps towards the entrance.

He used his back to push open the door, as he had no free arms, and was pleasantly surprised to discover that, inside, the school looked totally normal, and not at all like the posh Victorian nightmare he'd been expecting. It looked just like any other school, except slightly larger, and slightly cleaner. The pale blue walls were lined with lockers, and a room at the end of the corridor to the left, with a door marked 'Reception'. Normal.

Bucky let out a sigh of relief. See; nothing to be nervous about.

He walked down the wide corridor to where he figures reception must be, trying not to wince every time his footsteps echoed loudly through the otherwise empty hallway.

When he reached reception he strode right in, putting on his confident face.

"Hi," he greeted the tired-looking and yet very attractive brunette sitting in the receptionist's chair. He offered her one of his charming grins. "I'm Bucky- uh, James Barnes, the new History and Politics head of department."

"One minute," the girl- she couldn't be older than, what, twenty five?- yawned without looking at him, picking up the phone and holding it in between her shoulder and her ear. "You can put your boxes down on the table over there for now."

Bucky waited patiently after he's plonked down his belongings, glancing around the office and taking in the surroundings. There were a couple of amateur paintings hung on the walls, probably done by students. Most of them were actually pretty good, Bucky noticed.

"Cliiiiint," the girl is suddenly complaining into the mouthpiece, and Bucky's eyes drifted curiously back to her. "It's Darcy. Clint, where's my coffee? It's almost eight. Eight, Clint. It was supposed to be here, on my desk, when I arrived at 7:15."

Silence, as 'Clint' responded.

"No, it's your turn, it says so on the timetable," Darcy sighed, spinning around in her swivel chair and jabbing a perfectly manicured nail onto a piece of paper that is too far away and in too small print for Bucky to be able to read. "That's not true, I sent you the e-copy. I don't care, just bring it to me ASAP. Three sugars. I can feel myself fading away, Clint. Fading. Like a ghost." The brunette, Darcy, lifted her feet up onto the desk, leaning back in her chair with another yawn.

Bucky cleared his throat, and Darcy holds up a hand to silence him. "On a separate note, there's a new guy here with me. Err, James Barnaby something. Barney. Barnes?"

Bucky was about to intervene before she dragged a piece of paperwork out from under another file and gave it a quick scan-through. "Yeah, Barnes. Ok, will do. And Clint? If my coffee isn't here in ten minutes, I'll make sure every cranky parent with an issue gets given your home number. That's right, you better go get it."

The busty brunette planted the phone back into the dock with a 'click'. Darcy then blinked up at Bucky for the first time since he entered the room. There was a slightly uncomfortable silence as her jaw dropped. "Holy shit," she said after a minute. "You're totally gorgeous. I'm Darcy." She held out her hand. "Welcome to Hazelbrook."

"You're not so bad yourself," Bucky smirked, taking her hand and giving it a firm shake. "Thanks."

Compliments like that tended to not phase him anymore; he got them a lot. From women and from men.

"It's James, right?"

"Call me Bucky."

"That's pretty random," Darcy pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

Bucky shrugged. "My middle name's Buchanan. I hated James when I was a kid, so..."

Both of Darcy's eyebrows are up now. "James Buchanan? Like the-"

"President," Bucky finished for her, giving a resigned grin. "You got me."

"Perfect name for a perfectly attractive history teacher," Darcy sighed wistfully, before sliding off her chair and getting to her feet, snatching some files off her desk with one hand, and Bucky's wrist with the other. "Alrighty then, Mr President, I guess I'll take you to your classroom."

"Thanks," Bucky said gratefully, picking up his boxes again. "Can I just ask," he added as Darcy led him from the room, "Where is everyone?"

"Oh, well, because we only get one in-service day most of the staff are busy setting up their classrooms, if they're even here yet. Some probably won't be until around nine. Students will arrive tomorrow, so all the teachers are avoiding this place until the last possible second. God knows why I'm here. Here's your room," She said in one long flow, gesturing to the closed door of Bucky's new classroom. "Key's in the door. If you need any help setting up then just scream really loudly. Someone's bound to hear you." Darcy flounced off back down the hall again.

Bucky blinked once, before he shook his head and moved to unlock the door. A couple of files slid off the top of one of the boxes, skidding to the floor.

"Dammit," he sighed, shouldering the door open and switching on the lights. He took a minute to glance around as he dropped the boxes onto his desk, admiring the size of the room.

There were empty bulletin boards covering the walls, which was fantastic, because Bucky had a collection of war posters and political comics to rival that of a 1920s German newspaper. There was a smartboard, too, as well as a regular whiteboard, and shit, that was already better than his last school. The computer at his desk was already on and his login page was blinking to let him know that it was responsive. "Cool," he muttered to himself with a grin.

He turned to collect the papers he dropped a few moments ago, but it seemed someone else already beat him to it.

"Um, are these yours?" A man in a purple button-up with somewhat spiky blond hair and brown eyes was standing in his doorway, offering the papers out to him. He was holding a Starbucks in his other hand. He was actually pretty hot, Bucky realises, which was nice to see, because there were a grand total of zero attractive people at his last school, and he's just met two here in the last ten minutes. On the other hand, his gaydar was really on point these last few months, and there was no way this guy was even slightly batting for the other team. Not with that haircut.

"Yeah," Bucky nodded, taking them out of the man's grip. "Thanks. I'm Bucky, by the way, Bucky Barnes, I'm new. History and politics."

"Clint," The other man offered, "Barton. I'm the librarian. And… You said your name's Bucky? Darcy mentioned a _James_ …"

 _Oh, it's Darcy's coffee-Clint_.

Bucky gave him a resigned smile. "That's me. Please, though, call me Bucky. Nobody except my mother and the army calls me James."

Clint grinned. "Army, huh?" He was fiddling with something in his left ear- a hearing aid, maybe?

"Yep," Bucky grinned back, leaning against his desk. "Sergeant James Barnes, at your service."

"I worked with the government for a bit too," Clint admitted, scratching his head with a grin. "Although, they don't give out rank titles for my kind of work."

Bucky's grin widened. "Were you a Seal or something? CIA?"

Barton smirked back. "That's classified, soldier."

"CLINT!" The sound of high heels tapping on the linoleum floor grew louder as Darcy approached. "Clint, that had better be my coffee."

Clint gave Bucky a wink before turning, grinning, to face Darcy, who was looking both angry and hopeful. "Of course, Khaleesi," he chuckled, offering her the cup. "Three sugars, as requested."

"Oh thank god," Darcy sighed in relief as she raised the cup to her lips, taking a long drink. "Barton, don't you ever do that to me ever again. I've been running on fumes all morning."

"Hey, you haven't seen Tasha, have you?"

"That depends, will you pay for my next coffee?"

"Yeah, Darcy, sure."

"Then yeah, I saw her. Staff break room, half an hour ago. She's probably still there."

Clint nodded. "Great, thanks." He glanced up at Bucky again, and there was something about the friendly smile on his face that made Bucky relax slightly. "See, Darcy here never does anything for free. She's a dream, she practically runs this whole school, but she won't do it for free."

Darcy grinned. "Awww, Clint," she mocked, pressing one hand against her heart and giving him a sappy look. "A dream? I'm touched."

"Well anyway, I'm going up to the staff room. When you're done setting up you should come join us," Clint offered, and Bucky replied with a grin.

"Yeah, pal, sure. I've just got a couple things to get done."

"Course, course. Hey, I'll see you later then."

"See you 'round."

Darcy gave Bucky a smile and a little wave, still clinging to the coffee like it was her life force. "See you later, Sex God."

Bucky rolled his eyes with a grin and disappeared back into his classroom.

Turns out, Darcy had been right about everyone coming in around nine. By 9:15 at the latest the hallways were buzzing with other teachers, and Bucky no longer felt quite so uncomfortable, like he was the only person in the building.

He managed to put up all his posters with relative ease, and pretty soon the empty classroom was beginning to look a lot more familiar.

He organised his pens and notepads neatly in the drawers of his desk, straightening out his jacket on the chair behind him and shoving his wallet and keys into the lockable drawer. All of the textbooks he'd been provided with by the school had been stacked neatly on the shelves along the back wall, and his own, more specialised books were piled on top of them. (Just in case a student wanted to do a bit of extra reading. Shut up.)

But there was something he was miss- Oh, yeah, that was it. He pulled a huge artillery shell out from under his desk and used it to prop open the door.

Then he grabbed his hockey stick from under there as well and sat down in his chair at his desk, reaching across to the light switch with the hockey stick to see if he could turn it off from his desk without moving.

He discovered he could.

Looking pleased with himself, Bucky balanced the hockey stick against the board behind him.

"That's so going on my Twitter," came Darcy's voice, laughing from the door.

Bucky spun around on his chair to face her, confused. "What?"

Darcy held out her phone to show him a photo of himself, almost falling out of the chair as he tried to hit the light switch with his hockey stick.

"Oh great," Bucky deadpanned, but Darcy just laughed.

"Don't worry, I've only got, like, six hundred followers and none of them even know you. But you might become a meme or something, 'Lazy Teacher', it would be called."

Bucky frowned in confusion. "A what? A mehme?"

"Meeem," Darcy enunciated for him. "It's this thing on the internet- well, there's more than one. They're like- ugh, never mind."

Bucky's expression of complete and total confusion must've been enough incentive for her to give up.

"Barnes, is that a giant bullet you've got holding your door open?"

Bucky frowned. "It's called an artillery shell, and it's actually a German 105mm original from World War II that contained mustard gas."

Darcy stared blankly at him. "Wow. That's fascinating. Anyway, Recent and Slightly Strange Addition to the Hottie Pool, you're coming with me."

"Where?"

"Upstairs, of course."

Bucky blinked.

Darcy was staring at him again, like he was an imbecile. "Oh, you walnut. Staff room? Where the staff conglomerate? You should meet everybody. They're all pretty much here by now. And you have a head start by meeting Clint."

"How's that?" _Conglomerwhat_?

"Everyone just really likes him, that's all. Come on."

"Sure," Bucky agreed, reaching for his suit jacket.

Darcy shook her head. "Oh, you won't need that. Tony's still in his pyjamas."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Good thing I didn't wear my tux then, huh?"

 

*

 

The staff room was actually a lot bigger and a lot nicer than Bucky had been expecting.

Darcy shoved him down into a seat at one of the tables, sitting down in the empty chair next to him. "Everyone, this is the new guy."

"Bucky," he introduced himself, shooting the people around him what he hoped was a charming grin. "Bucky Barnes. I teach history and politics."

"Hey buddy," Clint acknowledged over a mug of tea. Bucky smiled back.

"Phil Coulson," put in the man opposite him with a warm smile; he was slightly older than anyone else he'd met so far. "Geography and deputy head. We spoke on the phone a few weeks ago."

"Of course," Bucky nodded with a smile, "Nice to meet you in person."

"I'm Bruce," piped up a shorter man with a messy mop of dark hair and slightly lopsided glasses, sitting to Bucky's left. "Bruce Banner. I teach chemistry."

Bucky shook his hand. "Chemistry, huh? Any kind of awesome Breaking Bad shit that I can get in on?"

Bruce laughed, but his reply was drowned out by the sound of someone yelling.

"Pepper? _Pepper_!"

"Tony, she's downstairs. She can't hear you."

Bucky turned around to watch the man in a red and gold bathrobe shoot Coulson a glare as he cupped his hands around his mouth and simply shouted louder, "PEPPER!"

"The incredible thing is, I think she has a sixth sense for when Tony yells at her," Clint muttered under his breath, and almost as if on cue a pretty redheaded woman appeared in the doorway, lips set in a firm line, watching Tony with a raised eyebrow.

"What is it, Tony?"

"Peps," the man called Tony started, flinging an arm around the woman's shoulders. "I have a proposition for you."

"Oh god."

"No, you'll like this one, I promise."

"Will I?"

"Yes. See, I've been working on this new program for the computers downstairs-" Tony had wheeled Pepper over to their table and sat down beside Coulson, pulling poor Pepper into the seat next to him, "- And I was thinking that what we really, really need... Is a cat."

Pepper stared at him. Just stared. And when she finally spoke, it was with the most resigned voice Bucky had ever heard.

"Why do we need a cat, Tony."

"Because- see, this is the good part, Peps, you'll like this part, I swear- I think I can make it talk."

"Here we go," Bruce sighed, at the same time as Pepper said loudly, "No. No. Absolutely not."

"But JARVIS-" "Not a chance in hell."

"But you'd get some of the credit! Imagine what the world would _become_ , Pepper!"

"Trust me, we don't need talking animals. Talking people is bad enough." Pepper leaned forwards and pressed a chaste kiss to the lips of the now deflated man in front of Bucky. "Why aren't you dressed, Tony? You were dressed when we left the house."

"I'm more comfortable in my robe. It allows for a lovely breeze-"

"Oh god, please don't go there, please spare us," Clint was moaning.

Pepper, however, was seemingly used to this by now. "Will that be all, Mr. Stark?"

Tony sighed. "That'll be all, Ms. Potts."

Pepper got to her feet and walked brusquely from the room.

"Why do you do this to your poor wife," Bruce said in a saddened tone, staring up at Tony.

 _Oh, so they're married. Interesting_.

"Banner," Tony interrupted, holding up a hand. "Banner, seriously. Don't even try to tell me that you don't want a talking cat. Because I think I can do that now."

"Please don't, Tony," Phil pleaded. "Think of Pepper. Think of the cats. They don't want to talk."

"You can't possibly know that," Tony argued.

He pointed at Bucky. "You, new guy, do you want a talking cat?"

"I'm allergic to cats," Bucky answered with a grin.

"Of course you are; right, next guy. Barton-"

"No."

"Okay, Darcy?"

"Hell yeah, are you crazy? If my cats could talk we'd have literally the best time ever."

"Thank you." Tony's gaze flew back to Bucky and he thrust his hand out. "I'm Tony Stark, by the way, I teach IT, Engineering and Mechanics for the seniors, and occasionally I do some fantastic lectures on more abstract concepts such as the philosophy of time travel."

"Bucky," Bucky said, trying to hold back a laugh. Was this guy for real? "Bucky Barnes."

Wait.

Stark.

Tony Stark.

Bucky's jaw fell open. "Wait, you're not- You're not the Tony Stark- Stark Industries, Tony Stark?"

Tony sat up proudly in his chair. "Damn right I am; the aura of genius gave it away, did it?"

"I think it was the name, actually," Clint muttered under his breath, but if Tony heard him he chose to ignore it.

"You're like a bajillionaire, what the fuck are you doing working in a high school?" Bucky had blurted out before he could stop himself.

Tony tapped the side of his nose. "All in good time, dear man, all in good time."

"We'll find out one day, Stark," came a warning voice from Bruce, and Clint laughed.

"Yeah, we'll figure out your secret."

Bucky looked from one to the other. "Wait, none of you guys know?"

"Nope," Coulson sighed, narrowing his eyes at an innocently-blinking Tony. "He's never told us."

"Four years," Clint was muttering. "Four years, and none of us have any idea what we've done to deserve this nightmare-"

Tony punched him hard in the arm, and Clint let out a yelp.

Bucky laughed alongside the others.

"Why was Pepper complaining to Maria about talking cats?" Came a confused Brooklyn accent from behind Bucky over the chatter of the rest of them.

"Why do you think," Coulson and Bruce said at the same time, before grinning at each other and high-fiving.

Bucky turned around in his chair to introduce himself to the dude behind him as everyone else got caught up in another conversation, but was very nearly stunned into complete silence.

The guy was _gorgeous_.

Like, drop dead.

Completely perfect in every single possible way.

Bucky didn't even try to hide the way his eyes slowly scanned over the man's body, jaw slightly slack.

"So, uh, you must be James," Mr Blond Hunk with a Perfect Torso was saying awkwardly, holding out his hand.

When Bucky continued to stare at him in awe, he cleared his throat. "I'm Steve Rogers. I teach PE and I run the gym upstairs."

 _Pull yourself together Barnes_.

"God, please don't call me James." Bucky managed to huff out a laugh, taking Steve's hand and shaking it firmly. "I'm only James if I'm in trouble with my mother. It's Bucky."

Steve smiled, and it was so perfect and warm that it looked like it could melt the sun. "Ok; Bucky. You looking forward to your first day?"

"Kind of nervous, actually," Bucky laughed, shrugging. "But I've taught before, so I'm sure it won't go as badly as what I've pictured in my head."

"What have you pictured?"

"Explosions, mostly. Fires. Plague. Famine. Zombie apocalypses, that kind of thing."

Steve laughed, clapping a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "Yeah, chances are it won't be that bad. Where did you last work, then?"

Bucky nodded, still trying to get the perfect sound of Steve's laugh out of his brain for long enough to formulate a proper response. "Uhh, East Brooklyn High," he managed finally.

"No wonder you've been picturing disasters," Steve was laughing.

Clint raised his eyebrows from across the table. "What, nightmare school?"

Bucky gave him a serious look. "You could say that."

"My dad threatened to send me there once," Tony mused, "But I put the application in the shredder and was sent to boarding school instead."

There was a silence while everyone else digested that.

"Okay," Coulson said finally to break the silence.

"So what was wrong with your last school, Barnes?"

"What _wasn't_ wrong with it," Bucky chuckled. "The students were demons, the teachers were worse, the building was falling apart and I could've made more money as a male prostitute."

"Hey, now, that's a legitimate option," Tony interrupted loudly. "And if I wasn't happily married-"

Bucky stifled a laugh as Bruce planted his hand firmly over Tony's mouth to stop him from finishing his sentence.

"So are you from there, if you don't mind me asking? Brooklyn, I mean. You've got an accent." Oh, Steve was walking to him. Perfect Steve.

Bucky grinned, holding up both arms in a mini surrender. "Born and raised; the accent's part of that east side charm. Which you have a hint of, by the way, are you from around there?"

As it turned out, they had only lived a couple blocks away from one another.

"Small world," Steve chuckled as he returned from the little kitchenette across the room with a coffee, sitting down on the seat that Darcy had only recently vacated. "We could've been in the same bar at the same time or something and never ever noticed."

"It's a damn shame," Bucky replied, his eyes hungrily dragging down Steve's torso again. When he looked back up at his face, he noticed that the other man had gone bright red. Bucky's gaydar was practically screaming at him, especially after he caught Steve's eye and the guy gave him a small, private grin, before changing the subject completely.

"So Buck, what do you teach?"

"History and politics," Bucky replied with a slight nod. "And, 'Buck'?"

Steve frowned slightly. "Yeah I said that didn't I, sorry-"

"No, pal, it's fine," Bucky said with a shrug, before shooting Steve a wicked grin. "It's just, usually when people shorten my name it's because they're too worn out to worry about the extra syllable."

"He means sex," Tony explained patronisingly to Steve, patting him gently on the shoulder.

Steve's face had gone tomato red again, and before he could splutter out a response to that one there was a loud squeal from behind him.

" _James_?"

Bucky knew that voice. He definitely knew that voice. And when he realised exactly how he knew that voice, it was like his entire body was flooded with- what were those happy hormones? Endorphins?

He practically fell out of his chair, and the sight of the redheaded woman dressed to the nines in black was enough to force a face-splitting grin onto his face.

" _Nat_?!"

Natasha Romanoff practically threw herself across the room and crash-landed against Bucky's chest with a force hard enough to almost knock him backwards.

"Careful with my coffee!" Tony yelled loudly from the table. "Don't jog the table!"

"What are you doing here?!" Natasha was laughing as she pulled back to look at Bucky.

"I, uhhh, I actually work here now," Bucky grinned, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I had no idea you were teaching now! What class? That's so fucking weird, what a coincidence… I'm a substitute in for one of the English teachers while she's on maternity leave," Natasha explained with a friendly sparkle in her eyes.

"History and politics," Bucky answered with a grin. "Christ, Nat, they let you teach _kids_?"

"Why can't she teach kids?" Tony was demanding as he leaned across the table. "Natasha, what dark past are you hiding from us?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, Tony," Natasha said innocently, patting him on the cheek. "James, what have you done to your hair?"

Bucky frowned. "I had it cut; why, what's wrong with it?"

"God, I hate it," Natasha said mournfully, tugging at one of the short strands of Bucky's hair. "It used to be so lovely and long-"

"You're worse than my mother," Bucky laughed.

"You had long hair?" Steve questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Bucky felt his cheeks flush, but as he opened his mouth to answer Natasha beat him to it.

"The last time I saw him, it was down past his shoulders," she said in a teasing voice, lightly elbowing Bucky in the ribs. "He fancied himself as a little warrior princess, didn't you James?"

Tony eyed him expectantly. "I'm sorry, I'm going to need an explanation."

"I was undercover," he argued, pinching Nat's arm. "And the wigs were itchy, so I figured I'd just grow it out."

Tony pouted. "So no warrior princess?"

"No warrior princess. Sorry to disappoint."

"It's not that disappointing," Clint deadpanned, and Bucky laughed along with the others.

"So how do you guys know each other?" Bruce asked conversationally, glancing up at Natasha. "Because, no offense Tasha, but you look like the kind of girl who murders the guys she sleeps with straight after she's done."

"Like a black widow," Steve agreed with a teasing grin. "The spider."

"Well, what can I say," Natasha sighed wistfully, batting her eyelashes at Bucky. "This one was different."

"Fuck off," Bucky laughed, not failing to notice how Tony's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "We never slept together, Bruce, no. We served together."

"Served some of thisss," Tony smirked as he stood up and started doing pelvic thrusts.

"Oh god, Stark, please stop," groaned Coulson, covering his face with his hands. "You'll give Pepper heart palpitations if she walks in and sees you doing that."

"There's no point, Phil, he's not going to stop- Hey, Thor?" Clint yelled across the room, and a huge man with long blond hair glanced over at him from where he was standing by the copier. "Could you do me a favour and pick up the email I just printed out from my blackberry? It should be just at the top of the pile."

"Of course," came the booming response, and Bucky noticed the guy was British. Or sounded British.

"Here." Thor approached and practically _presented_ a piece of paper to Clint, which he folded neatly in half and tucked into the folder on the table in front of him. "Thanks, buddy."

"His name is really Thor?" Bucky said incredulously as the guy walked out of earshot. " _Seriously_?"

Natasha was grinning at him. "Yeah. He's from Sweden or somewhere. Norway? Somewhere in Europe."

"He teaches modern languages," Steve explained. "Thor, come over here and say hi to the new guy."

Bucky was beginning to dislike being called that.

Thor reappeared, smiling widely at Bucky. "Fresh blood!"

"Oh god."

"It's an honour to meet you, my friend," Thor announced- he seemed to announce everything- as he took Bucky's hand and shook it vigorously. "I am Thor Odinson. I teach languages."

"Bucky Barnes," Bucky grinned, and yeah, he was starting to like this guy's confused and formal enthusiasm for everything. "What languages do you teach?"

Thor blinked in confusion.

"All of them."

Bucky glanced up at Natasha and Steve with an eyebrow raised.

They just grinned smugly back at him.

"Oh," was all Bucky could think to say. "Right."

It was then that Tony decided to interrupt with a gasp, followed by a loud shout of "PEPPER! Guess what Rhodey just picked up for us from the animal shelter!" He jogged out of the room, smartphone in hand.

"Guess that means they're getting a cat after all," Natasha said with a grin.

Aside from few staff meetings and a talk with the headmaster, Fury, who was both nice and terrifying, the rest of the day went by without event.

A highlight had been when Bruce and Tony got into a shouting match over thermonuclear physics, and Clint had tried to resolve the situation by pelting them both with office supplies with surprising accuracy.

Another had been when Fury had explained to him that each teacher had their own method of teaching, and he was cool with whatever Bucky wanted to do as long as it produced results.

That had been _very_ good news.

Bucky was home by six with some new numbers in his cellphone and a bit of leftover preparation to do for tomorrow, when he would actually start teaching.

When he finally settled into bed that night, tired, alone and still kind of hungry, he realized he'd left his wallet in his desk.

Which meant he couldn't buy coffee on his way into work the next morning.

Which meant he had to get some from the staff room.

Which meant he needed to get in earlier than he'd originally thought.

"Christ," he muttered to himself as he rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in the lumpy pillow. Within minutes, he was asleep.

 

*

 

Bucky arrived at school at 7:30 the next morning.

The students weren't supposed to arrive until 8:45, which gave him plenty of time to get himself organized and drink a metric ton of coffee to wake himself up before they got there.

After dumping his stuff onto his desk he trudged sleepily up to the staff room, tie hanging loosely around his neck, shirt untucked.

He was pleased to notice immediately that there was fresh coffee in the pot already, and he poured himself a generous mug full of black coffee with two sugars before collapsing into one of the chairs and slumping onto the table with a contented sound.

"Late night?" Came an amused voice from one of the couches.

Bucky sat up again, scratching the back of his head as he turned to squint at the person who'd spoken- the only other person in the room, in fact, and who Bucky hadn't noticed up until that point.

Oh great, it was Steve. It _had_ to be Steve. It _had_ to be Steve grinning at him perfectly while he looked like an extra out of The Walking Dead.

"Early morning, actually," Bucky chuckled, raising the mug to his lips. He gave Steve a tired grin. "Never been a morning person. Why do you look so chipper and perfect at half seven on a Monday, huh, pal?"

Steve laughed, but avoided Bucky's eyes. "I actually AM a morning person."

"Course you are," Bucky said with a teasing smirk as he took a swig of the coffee. He nearly choked. "Dear god," he rasped over the sound of Steve's uncontrollable laughter. "This is disgusting."

"You develop a tolerance," Steve promised with a wide grin. "It gets better, trust me."

Bucky looked sadly down at his cup. "I'm drinking it anyway," he grumbled, "But I'm not happy about it."

"Mornin' fellas," Natasha greeted as she entered the room, giving Bucky a light kiss on the cheek before snatching his coffee and going over to join Steve on the couch, where she curled up beside him like a cat.

Bucky was instantly jealous. They looked like they'd make a perfect couple.

He stopped himself immediately, because that was a really weird thing to think when you'd only known the guy a day and a half.

"Naaat, I was drinking that," he whined, pouting at her.

Natasha grinned. "What, this? My bad. Tell you what, Clarice, quid pro quo: I give you your crappy, disappointing coffee if you promise to let me come over some time this week for dinner, which you will cook, like a gentleman, and a movie. It's been 7 years, James, I need to make sure the Sergeant Barnes I knew is still in there someplace."

"Throw in a pack of those Russian cigar things you used to have, stop calling me James, and you've got yourself a deal."

"Cigars I can do, but I'm not calling you Bucky. It's a stupid ass name."

Bucky hesitated for a second before sighing. "Deal."

"I think Bucky suits you better," Steve mused from beside Natasha.

_He's the cutest thing I have ever seen._

Something in Bucky's face must've given himself away, because precisely one second later Natasha was grinning widely at him. She slid off the sofa and advanced on him, smirking.

Bucky swallowed.

Nat put his mug back down in front of him and shot him a wink. "We're talking about this later."

"Okay," Bucky said in a resigned tone as he got up, taking his coffee with him. "I've got some last minute prep to do, and it'll take me at least a week to do my tie so I should probably get started."

"You can't do ties?" Steve questioned; apparently he'd missed the exchange between Natasha and Bucky. Luckily.

"Nope, didn't need to wear them at my last school and I always got a friend to do it up in the army. I'll see you later Nat," his eyes turned to shoot Steve what he hoped was his most charming grin. "Steve."

He noticed the other man's cheeks flush as he turned away, grinning victoriously to himself.

He'd only got a few steps down the hallway to his classroom when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and flipped it open- not everyone was lucky enough to have a smartphone like Tony.

**1 NEW MESSAGE- MESSAGE FROM: NATALIA R**

**Totally gave him that grin on purpose. I'm onto you, Barnes**.

Bucky grinned as he tapped out a response with one hand, entering his classroom.

**TO: NATALIA R**

**FROM: JAMES B BARNES**

**did it work?**

It only took a few seconds before he received her reply.

**FROM: NATALIA R**

**TO: JAMES B BARNES**

**Of course, same as always. Even Darcy was drooling over you. Do you ever get tired of being so attractive to everyone?**

Bucky smirked, downing the last of his seriously disgusting coffee before replying.

**TO: NATALIA R**

**FROM: JAMES B BARNES**

**do you?**

As expected, doing the tie was impossible. So impossible, in fact, that he decided to give up after twenty minutes and throw the damn thing into a drawer. Surely ties didn't matter that much, as long as he looked reasonable smart otherwise.

He fixed his hair in the reflection of the window, doing up one of the buttons on his shirt to make him look less like a waiter and more like a teacher. He then tucked in the ends, rolled up his sleeves to the elbows, perched on the edge of his desk, and waited. The students were meant to start arriving in ten minutes.

"Hey buddy, you all set?" Clint had appeared at the door.

Bucky grinned at him. "Ready as I'll ever be. You come in to check on me, Barton?"

Now Clint was grinning. "Just checking you haven't been poisoned by anything in the staff room yet."

"Coffee nearly did it."

"You'll get used to it."

Bucky laughed. "That's what Steve said."

Clint gave him a friendly smile. "It's the truth. Anyway, my library's just around the corner if you need anything, and Pepper's math classroom is just to the left. I dunno if you've met her, she's really very nice."

Bucky returned his smile. "Thanks, Clint."

Barton nodded once, before winking and departing. Bucky could hear him yelling, "And good luck!" over his shoulder.

Shortly afterwards, the first of the sixteen-year-olds began to file in.

The lessons here were slightly longer than what Bucky was used it, but it turned out to be pretty easy to control the kids for an extra twenty minutes. They all seemed to like him well enough, and they were all good kids.

Soon enough, first period was over and the 23 of them began to file out, with Bucky calling after them to 'please do the reading, for god's sake, have pity on the new guy.'

It wasn't until the last student left and the five minute warning bell rang that he noticed Steve standing in his doorway.

"Hey," he grinned, crossing his arms over his chest. "Have you guys got a rota or something? Take turns coming to make sure I haven't split?"

Steve laughed, resting his hands in his pockets,and Bucky was having trouble concentrating on something that wasn't how tight his gym uniform shirt was. "I had a question for you, actually. Looked through the window and saw an entire class completely entranced by you. Particularly the young ladies. Mind, you must be a pretty good teacher too, because I'm pretty sure some of them were even writing notes."

Bucky laughed, giving a mock-modest shrug. "Well. I like to think it's because of my hands-on teaching style."

Bucky was positive he noticed Steve's eyes quickly skating over him. "Among other things, probably."

He felt his cheeks flush and he quickly turned away, shuffling some of the papers on his desk. "So, uh, what was your question?"

Steve blinked. "What- oh, right, yeah, uhh. It's a tradition for the staff to go down to the Black Hart- it's a bar- for drinks on the first day of term after work. Fancy coming along?"

"Are you gonna be there?"

"Um, yeah-"

"Is Nat?"

"She never misses it."

Bucky grinned. "I'll be there. Text me the directions?"

The bell rang and his next class began to fill up the room, stepping around Steve in the doorway.

"No need, we can go straight from here. Meet you out front at, say, six-ish?"

"Sounds great," Bucky agreed with a smile.

By this point the class was mostly full, so Bucky swung around in his chair and stood up, facing the students. "Morning all, my name is Mr Barnes. And I guess it goes without saying that I'm your new history and politics teacher. Now, this is going to be a bit of a get-to-know-you lesson. I'll answer any questions about the course or the syllabus, hand out the books, etc. Try and learn your names, except that'll probably take a bit longer."

One of the boys raised their hand- a skinny kid with dark hair not unlike Bucky's, when it wasn't gelled back.

"Yes, you- I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"Peter, sir, Peter Parker. Um, what's with the giant bullet holding open your door?"

When Bucky glanced around to look, the first thing he noticed was that Steve was gone. "That, Mr Parker, is a very good question..."

Twenty minutes later and the whole class was enthralled with him. Bucky decided he liked these private school kids.

"So how come we don't call you Sergeant?"

Bucky grinned at the girl who had asked the question- Gwen something. "I guess you can if you want to. Any of you know Ms Romanoff? Definitely call me Sergeant in front of her. It'll really piss her- oops, sorry."

"Our last teacher said worse."

"Your last teacher was sacked, Henry."

Bucky noticed a pair of girls giggling and whispering to each other at the back of the room. "I'm sorry, ladies, are we interrupting something?"

The dark-haired one shot her friend a startled look and shook her head. "No, sir."

"Annie thinks you're hot," blurted out the friend, and the brunette- Annie- immediately flushed scarlet. The class erupted in laughter.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "That's only because you're not familiar with my terrible personality. Now, are there any questions about the _course_?"

"I have one," a kid called Billy piped up, "What grade do we need to pass?"

"C, Billy, as usual."

"And what happens if we fail?"

"You're not going to fail. I've never had to fail a student before and I'm not starting now."

That was _total_ bullshit. Bucky was pretty sure he'd failed at least _half_ of his students from EBH. Oh well, these guys didn't need to know that. Different circumstances.

Another hour later and the bell rang for lunch.

The students packed up fairly fast and began to disappear from the room, each picking up a textbook and a reading list on the way out.

"You should also start watching the news," Bucky recommended as they started filing out. "It helps with the politics part."

"Thanks Sarge," called behind someone as they ran off, and Bucky grinned. He liked this place.

Unable to find Natasha, and too lazy to go out and buy a proper lunch, Bucky elected to sit in reception behind the desk with Darcy and eat toast, watching as she played Galaga on her work desktop.

"Left," Bucky advised through a mouthful of toast. "Left, _left_ , Darcy, _LEF_ \- Jesus Christ."

"I'm _sorry_ , Captain Bossy!"

"Darce, you couldn't do me a huge favor and scan these through to Coulson, could you?" Pepper Potts asked in a breathless voice as she entered the room, followed by a tall and equally attractive black man in a fancy suit.

"No problem Peps," Darcy agreed, wheeling across the floor in her swivel chair over to the copy machine.

"Hi, sorry, we didn't meet yesterday," Pepper apologized, reaching across the desk to shake Bucky's hand. "Pepper Potts, if you didn't already know."

"Tony gave you away," Bucky grinned. "Bucky Barnes." He turned to the man behind Pepper, who gave Bucky an equally friendly greeting.

"Sam Wilson, I'm the guidance councillor. If you ever need anything-"

"Don't trust him," Darcy screeched as she wheeled back into view, handing Pepper back her papers. "He'll ask you about your childhood pets and then say you have daddy issues."

Sam rolled his eyes, but the grin on his face remained. "We've been through this Darcy, I'm not a shrink, I'm a councillor."

"Same thing," the receptionist dismissed.

"So Bucky, Steve mentioned you're coming to the bar later with everyone?" Pepper asked conversationally.

Bucky grinned. "Looks that way. When he said 'a few drinks'-"

"Oh, there's quite a bit of drinking. Between Tasha, Tony, Clint and Sam, anyway."

"That's more like it."

Sam grinned. "I like this guy."

Bucky laughed. It was weird how much better he felt teaching in a school where the staff we're actually friendly towards one another.

"Ooh, are we conspiring?" Natasha teased as she stuck her head in the door. "Sam, what have you convinced James to do?"

Sam raised an eyebrow, glancing at Bucky. "James?"

Bucky shook his head. "She's the only one who ever calls me that."

"Yeah, because your nickname is fucking stupid."

"Ladies, ladies," Darcy said loudly, waving her arms about in between them.

Natasha grinned, giving Bucky a wink before disappearing back into the stream of students in the hallway.

Pepper shook her head, grinning. "I gotta get moving," she told them with a smile. "See you all at the bar?"

"Bye Peps!" Darcy wiggled her fingers at her in a wave.

"Shit, yeah, I should make a move too," Sam muttered, clapping Bucky on the back.

"See you," Bucky acknowledged with a nod and a smile as he followed Pepper out.

"So we still have a half hour of lunch left," Darcy pointed out as she lifted her feet up and rested her bright red high heels on the computer keyboard. "You're hot. I'm hot. Let's play strip poker."

Bucky grinned, clasping both hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair, extending his legs. "During school hours? Isn't that illegal?"

Darcy shrugged. "I dunno. Probably. Who cares?" She poked at his chest. "You're too good-looking to be a teacher, dude, what the hell are you doing here?!"

Bucky laughed, giving the grinning receptionist a wink. "Well, Darcy, I'm flattered, and while you are _incredibly_ attractive- and I do mean that- you're not really my type. I'm going through a phase."

"What phase?" Came a voice from the door, and of course it had to be Steve, grinning and raising an eyebrow as he entered and leaned against Darcy's desk. "Did you just turn down a date opportunity with Darcy Lewis?!"

"Yes," Darcy said loudly. "Steve, defend my honor."

Bucky let out a snort of laughter. "Uh, no, it was an offer to play strip poker with her behind the desk, and as for your first question I'm currently going through a bit of a thing for blondes." Bucky managed to stare Steve straight in the eyes as he spoke, smirking.

Steve flushed bright red again, and Bucky was beginning to enjoy how easily he could make it happen. Hell, it had only been two days and Bucky had decided that Steve Rogers (with Natasha in close second) was his favorite thing about this school.

Had he developed a rather large crush on the guy in just two days?

No.

...

Maybe.

"Any particular gender preference there, Barnes?" Darcy asked in an innocent tone, but her voice had raised by about an octave and Bucky was pretty sure she was loving every second of this.

"Nope," Bucky said with a grin as he stood up and stretched out his back. "None at all. I gotta scram, I'll catch you later Darcy- are we still on for this evening, Steve?"

Steve still looked like he'd seen something he desperately wished he hadn't, but he managed a little nod.

Bucky grinned, clapping an arm to his shoulder as he walked past. "Okay, cool."

As he walked towards his classroom, he could hear Darcy squealing "What's this evening?!" from reception to what sounded like a very flustered Steve.

 

*

 

"Oh my _god_ ," Natasha laughed into her hands. "James, that's so horrible! Oh my god, poor _Steve_..."

Bucky had just finished explaining what had happened at lunchtime.

It was 5:45; all the students were long gone, and Bucky had spent the last two hours making lesson plans for the three weeks in advance. And since he had time to spare, he'd texted Natasha to come down for a chat.

"He's a big boy, he can handle it," Bucky chuckled.

"Still playing the same old games," Natasha teased as she swung her legs back and forth from her seat on Bucky's desk. "You tease them and tease them but you're always too scared to make a proper move."

"That only happened, like, three times," Bucky argued, "And it's been seven years, how do you know I haven't changed?"

Natasha raised her eyebrows at him. "Remember Clara?"

Bucky groaned. "Nat-"

"And Jackson? Mark? Eloise?"

"Fine, four times!"

The redhead rolled her eyes. "They all ended up hating you. Buck, my point is you can't just lead people on like that. It's not fair. If you have no intentions of following through then you should stop right now, while you're still the new guy."

"You only call me Buck when it's serious," Bucky tried to joke, but Natasha shot him one of her death glares and he held his hands up in surrender. "Alright, okay. I'll think about it."

Natasha sighed. "You're hopeless. When's Steve meeting you?"

Bucky checked his watch. "About ten minutes. Why?"

"Do you think he'd mind if I tag along?"

"Nat, you probably know him way better than I do."

"True. It's just, I took the bus in today anyway since I knew I wouldn't be in any state to drive home, so I don't have any means of getting there."

"You can stay with me, I live pretty near here?"

"Can I? Thanks James."

Ten minutes later Bucky and Natasha were waiting outside the front doors.

Bucky was wearing exactly what he'd worn to work- his suit, sans tie, with the top couple of buttons undone, and a peacoat pulled up around his ears because it was really fucking cold outside for September.

Natasha had changed into a plain black dress and heels, and she too was hugging at her coat. She looked beautiful, just like she always did. Bucky told her so.

"Aww, thanks," she had smiled, kissing him on the cheek.

Between the two of them, they had received a grand total of thirteen texts from one Tony Star in the last ten minutes, asking where the hell they were.

Bucky was considering blocking his number after the fourth missed call when Steve appeared, clutching a backpack in one hand and two full-sized sports bags in the other. "Sorry to keep you waiting," he huffed as he maneuvered the bags out the door. "I got sidetracked."

"It's fine, let me grab one of those." Before Steve could protest, Bucky had snatched a sports bag from out of his grip, and Natasha and taken the backpack. "And hey, is it okay if Nat rides with us?"

"Thanks, and sure thing. The more the merrier, right?"

Bucky shot a sideways grin at Natasha. "Right."

Steve's car was much less shitty than Bucky's, which he had no problem announcing in a loud and impressed voice. Steve had found it hilarious. Natasha not so much.

"I call shotgun," Bucky yelled as he shoved Natasha out of the way.

"I am a _lady_ ," the evil bitch had gasped in mock horror, shoving him back. "Are you _really_ going to make me-"

"Yes," Bucky had said without hesitating, pulling open the car door and sliding into the passengers seat while Natasha grumpily hopped into the back.

"What happened to being a gentleman?" Steve laughed, raising his eyebrows at Bucky as he spun around in his seat to reverse out of the car park.

"If you're looking for a gentleman, you might be looking in the wrong place," Natasha muttered sourly from the back.

Bucky let out a loud snort of laughter. "Aw, Nat, don't be so bitter! You have to be nice to me if you want to sleep over, remember?"

"I hate you."

They were at the bar in less than ten minutes; Natasha riding the whole way in bitter silence, Bucky singing along loudly to the radio and Steve shaking his head every time Bucky really badly missed a note, which was more often than not

"That was the car journey from hell," Natasha complained as she stepped out of Steve's car, pulling her coat tighter around herself.

"Aww, you don't mean that," Bucky teased, throwing an arm around her and pulling her small frame up against his chest. "Jesus, Nat, you're shaking-"

Steve immediately opened his mouth to voice his concerns, but Natasha interrupted before he could even start. "I didn't wear the right coat; let's just get inside."

Bucky glanced up at Steve, grinning. "After you."

Steve smirked. "Oh look, the gentleman makes an appearance after all."

Once inside, it was easy to spot everyone else. Tony, Bruce, Barton, Coulson, Pepper, Thor, Sam, and some more people that Bucky didn't recognize were all squeezed into a large booth with an attached table extending out of the end.

"Room for three more?" Steve asked with a smile as they approached, sliding out of his coat and draping it over the back of a chair.

"You made it!" Tony announced happily, extending his arms in welcome. "Sit sit sit!"

Steve squeezed into the booth beside Tony and Bucky slid in opposite him. 

"There's no room," Natasha complained, and Bucky opened his arms out to her. 

"Sit on my lap, it's fine."

"Oh my god, Wilson, way to take up the entire booth," Banner complained, trying to shove Sam further into the wall. 

"Hey, _hey_! Ive got less space than Clint! Why don't you yell at him?!"

Bucky spent the whole evening with Natasha curled up in his lap and Bruce squashed against his right shoulder. He was introduced to a few more people: Jane Foster, who was apparently Thor's wife, and Maria Hill, Fury's personal assistant.

The atmosphere in the bar was warm and friendly, but Bucky spent most of the evening in silence. It wasn't because he felt uncomfortable- he was quiet the opposite- it was simply that he was perfectly happy to sit there and listen to everyone else laughing and teasing eachother. It wasn't something he was used to. Aside from a couple of men from the army who he still kept in contact with, he didn't really have any actual friends. This reminded him of army days- the comradeship, the gentle ribbing. It was familiar. 

By 10:00, however, most people had left, and only Bucky, Sam, Clint, Tony, Steve, Natasha and Pepper remained. 

"I'm going out to get some air, stretch my legs a bit." Steve decided as Clint and Tony went up to the bar for another round. "It's super cramped in here."

"Yeah, I'll come with you," Bucky agreed, slipping out of the booth. It suddenly felt really warm in the bar. 

They left the others listening to Pepper complaining about her new cat, and together they stepped outside into the cold night air. 

Steve burrowed further into his coat, stuffing both hands into his pockets. "Nice night," he joked. 

Bucky snorted. "Yep." he dug into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. "Want one?" He offered them out to Steve. 

"Oh, no thanks," he shook his head.

Bucky shrugged, lighting his own and putting the rest back into his coat.

"I'm asthmatic."

"Oh jeez, sorry," Bucky apologized, making sure when he exhaled over his left shoulder, away from Steve.

"It's fine," Steve assured him. "Secondhand smoke is fine. My mom used to smoke." He shot Bucky a chastising look. "It's really bad for you, you know."

Bucky grinned, absently scuffing his shoe against the pavement. "I know. Soldier's habit."

Steve chuckled. "Oh yeah, forgot you're a military man."

"I was."

Steve grinned up at him. "Right. So, how'd you find your first day?"

Bucky grinned back. "Good. Great. I really like it here."

"I'm glad," Steve said honestly. "Seems like you really fit in here."

Bucky laughed. "Do I?"

Steve smiled at him. "Yeah. Natasha loves you, Darcy is _in_ love with you, Clint thinks you're hilarious-"

"He does?"

"Oh, sure. He can hear you teaching from the library; apparently you told your students to call you Sergeant around Tasha to piss her off," Steve laughed. 

Bucky let out a snort of laughter. "Oh god, he didn't tell her, did he?"

"Tony told him not to," Steve laughed. 

Bucky made a mental note to thank Tony. "Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

Bucky let his cigarette hang from his lips while he tried to warm his hands. "Why do you guys call her Tasha?"

Steve blinked. "Because her name's Natasha. It's a nickname."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Her name's Natalia."

Steve frowned. "No it's not."

"Yes it is. It's Natalia."

"It's definitely not."

"It is!"

"Buck, she's been working with us for months, I'm pretty sure we'd know if-"

Bucky's pocket started ringing, interrupting him. 

"Sorry," he apologized, digging in his coat for his phone. He groaned when he saw the caller ID. "Oh god. Sorry, Steve, I gotta take this..." He flipped the phone open and turned away, lifting it to his ear. The cigarette fell from his lips." Привет. Hi, Ma."

"James!" Came the loud shriek of the Russian woman at the other end of the line. "My boy, how was your first day?!"

Bucky swore, jerking the phone away from his ear. "Jesus, Ma, why are you yelling?! You don't need to yell, I can hear you fine. Why are you calling me at 10:15?"

"I only just got home. Tell me about your day, leave out no details. Do you like it?"

Bucky sighed. "Uh, yeah, it was good. And yes, I do."

His mother sighed. "Such a shame you left the military."

Bucky stared at a spot on the wall like he was on The Office. "Ma. We're not having this conversation again."

"Okay, okay, I'm just saying-"

" _Ma_."

"Did you make any friends?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Oh hey, you remember Nat? Natalia? She works here too; small world, huh?"

"Natalia!" His mother exclaimed loudly, and Bucky almost dropped the phone in surprise.

" _Please_ stop yelling, _Christ_!"

"James, stop using the lord's name in vain!"

Bucky made an infuriated noise. "Ma, I'm not religious."

"I know, my boy, another disappointment."

"Gee, thanks."

"I think you should marry Natalia. She doesn't hate you, she's pretty, she's smart. She's smarter than _you_ , James."

"Oh my _god,_ we've been through this like a _thousand_ times-"

"Do you have a girlfriend then?"

Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Нет. Not exactly."

"James, you're 29! Why are you lonely?"

"Ma, 'alone' and 'lonely' don't mean the same thing."

"Don't patronize me, boy, I live in the Americas for forty years!"

"It's actually just 'America', but-"

"James," she snapped, and Bucky grinned at the floor. 

"Sorry."

"Have you done your homework?"

"No, see, I'm the teacher now, I _set_ the homework."

"Did you get an A?"

Bucky blinked. "Alright, is Dad there? _Please_ put me on to Dad."

"Your father is still at the hospital," his mother said apologetically. 

"Xander?"

"Да. Yes."

"How's he doing?" Bucky rubbed at his forehead, sighing.

"The results of the test are being explained in tomorrow."

Bucky nodded, ignoring his mother's broken English. "Alright, well let me know."

"You should visit him."

Bucky sighed down the line. "I dunno. Maybe."

"Your sisters have."

"Not Seb or Sashie? Henry?"

"No, your brothers are all being like you." He heard his mother sigh. "My boys; why are you all so... So..."

"Russian?" Bucky supplied, laughing as his mother swore at him through the phone. 

"This is not the time for being a joker, James," she snapped. "Your brother is very ill."

"Xander's always been ill," Bucky sighed, and he heard his mother let out a noise of distaste.

"James, don't."

"I'm sorry, Ma."

"It's not his fault."

"Я понимаю. I know." Bucky coughed loudly, trying to clear his throat. "Oops, sorry," he apologized gruffly, "It's freezing out here-"

"James," came his mother's warning voice, "have you been smoking the crack?"

" _Jesus_ , Ma!"

"Because I didn't raise you-"

"Ma, I'm not smoking _crack_!"

"Are you sure?"

" _Yes_!"

"Because if you're lying to your Ma, James, God will know."

"I actually gotta go," Bucky interrupted. "Very busy with work stuff."

"Oh, of course, goodnight my boy, lots of love!"

"Пока, Ma. Goodnight." Bucky hung up, shaking his head at the ground as he pocketed his phone. "Unbelievable," he muttered, turning to face Steve. "I'm sorry about that, man, she gets antsy if I don't answer her calls."

Steve was grinning widely at him. "Are you smoking crack, Bucky?"

"Oh god-"

"Are you lonely?"

"Shut up," Bucky laughed, lightly punching. Steve in the shoulder. "She's Russian, they're all fucking crazy over there."

"I thought you were from Brooklyn?"

"I'm half Russian. But Dad's American, and I grew up in Brooklyn, so..."

Steve grinned. "So you speak Russian?"

Bucky smirked at him. "Да."

"Does Natasha? You said she was Russian."

Bucky nodded. "Yeah." He smiled. "Actually, that's how we met; in 2005 I was stationed-"

" _James_!" Natasha came sashaying out of the bar, hugging her coat to her petite frame, escorted by Clint. "Can we head out?"

Bucky grinned at her, nodding. "Yeah, sure." He glanced up at. Clint, smirking. "You sure you don't want to take her?"

"Hey!"

Clint laughed. " _Oh_ no, buddy, I'm good. She's really cranky in the mornings."

" _Hey_!"

"I'm not going to ask how you know that," Steve was grinning.

"Alright," Bucky laughed, wrapping his arm around Nat's waist. "It's not far, we can get a cab. See you guys tomorrow?" His eyes landed on Steve and stayed there for a second, and he was so zoned out that he missed Clint's reply. He blinked, clearing his throat, gave the two men a wave and then let Natasha lead him up the street. 

"I'm sorry," Natasha said mournfully once they were out of earshot of the others. "Did I step on your moment?"

"Not really," Bucky snorted. "I spent most of our alone-time on the phone to my mother, soo..."

Natasha laughed. "You didn't try to pull a Bucky Barnes on him, did you?"

"If by that you mean did I try to confuse his sexuality with my charming looks and personality, then no. I don't think so. At least, I didn't try to. I've decided to take your advice on that one." Bucky watched his feet as they walked. "He seems like a nice guy and I don't wanna ruin it."

Natasha beamed at him. "Really?" She leaned up to kiss his cheek. "Aww. Good boy. I'm proud of you."

Bucky rolled his eyes, grinning. "Thanks?"

"What were you talking about with your mom?"

Bucky thought about his brother. He shrugged. "Just stuff. Normal stuff."

Natasha watched him for a minute before nodding and looking away. "Cool."

He was grateful that she didn't push it. "She still thinks we should get married."

"Psh, like I'd ever marry a guy who willingly calls himself 'Bucky'."

Bucky frowned. "Nat, you're _literally_ friends with a guy named _Thor_."

"It makes you sound like a hick!"

"I could just leave you out on the street."

"You wouldn't do that," Natasha scoffed. 

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"What time do you need to be at work tomorrow?"

"I want to go to the gym, so a little earlier than usual maybe."

Nat raised her eyebrows. "You're not going to the gym just to see Steve, are you? Because you _just_ told me-""

Bucky hailed a cab and pulled her inside. 

"James...?"

"East 54th Street, please."

"James." Natasha was using her warning voice. 

Bucky said nothing, just pointedly stared out the window. 

" _James._ " 


	2. Star Wars Night

"Morning, pal."

Steve didn't even have to look up from where he was stacking the weights in the corner of the gym to know who it was. "Hey, Buck." He glanced at his watch. "You're earlier than usual."

He heard a loud beep, and then the noise of an engine as the treadmill started up behind him. 

"Yeah, I wanted to have time for a coffee run to Starbucks afterwards. The coffee here still really sucks, despite, like, six promises that it gets better."

Steve grinned. 

Bucky had been coming into the gym at 7:00 every morning (excluding weekends, of course) for almost a month. It had been kind of weird at first, because literally _nobody_ else used the gym- no teachers did, anyway- but after about a week Steve found he quite liked the history teacher's company. 

When they'd first met, Steve had developed a bit of a crush on the guy. He was attractive, and funny, and kind of a dick but in an amusing way. Bucky's incessant flirting had made him hope that maybe the feelings were reciprocated. Recently however the flirting had all but stopped, and the guy had become almost nothing but _friendly_. But that didn't stop Steve's stomach from twisting a little whenever he saw him.

However, over the last few weeks, the dark-haired man had become Steve's _friend_.

"Hey, how was dinner with your folks last night?" Steve asked conversationally after about half an hour, leaning against the stationary bike and watching Bucky on the treadmill.

"Same as last time," Bucky huffed in a laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile as he looked up at Steve. "'James, why aren't you married? You're nearly thirty, you should've never left the army, women love a soldier,' blah blah blah. I think they're worried I'll die alone. "

Steve snorted, crossing his arms. "Yeah, I'm glad I don't have to deal with any of that."

"Oh, that's just my mother. My sisters are ten times worse."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. They're both married with kids already. They love rubbing it in."

Steve grinned. "How many siblings do you _have_? I swear you've mentioned a brother or two-"

"Four," Bucky laughed breathlessly, slowing his pace down to a walk and reaching for his water bottle. 

"Four siblings?"

"Four _brothers_. Six siblings. And most of them have kids at this point, so you can imagine the Christmas dinners."

Steve whistled. "Christ. I wonder what that's like."

Bucky grinned. "Only child?"

"How'd you guess?"

"Got lucky." Bucky winked at him.

"Do you like having such a huge family?"

Bucky laughed. "Sometimes. It had its perks, you know? The chances of getting along with at least one of them increases. But when there's a problem, _everyone_ gets involved. It's chaos."

Steve grinned. "Problem like you not being married?"

The other man snorted. "Yeah, problems like that. Hardly a problem, but everyone else thinks it is."

"I'm not married, if that makes you feel any better. Neither's Clint, or Natasha, or Phil. There's no rush."

Bucky shrugged. "I don't think I'd _ever_ want to get married."

Steve watched him curiously. "Why's that?"

"I dunno. I guess I never saw the point. And I could only get married to a woman, anyway, which really narrows my options."

Steve swallowed thickly. "That's not true; same-sex marriage is legal in quite a few states now." 

Bucky laughed. "Oh, no, that's not what I meant; I meant my family. Ma in particular. She's really religious."

Steve frowned. "You don't think they'd be okay with you being gay?"

"I'm not _gay_ , I'm just _easy_. And I think my dad would probably be okay with it, maybe, but my mother's sort of in charge anyway, so..." He shrugged. "I'm not fussed about it either way. The brunt of their laser focus hasn't been on me for a long time anyway."

Before Steve could ask what he meant, Bucky spoke again.

"Oh, hey, I need your advice."

Steve raised an eyebrow, smiling. "With?"

Bucky stared at him with a serious expression. "Nat's birthday present."

Steve snorted. "Oh, god. When's her birthday?"

"Three days. Didn't you get Tony's email about a party?"

"I got _Natasha's_ email that there would be _no_ party," Steve countered with a laugh. 

Bucky hook his head with a grin. "Yeah, she cancelled it. Tony was disappointed. I think he had fireworks planned. But anyway, it's in three days, and I need help with gift ideas."

"Flowers?" Steve suggested, "chocolate?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of, like, vodka, and some DVDs, maybe. Maybe a Star Wars box set," Bucky mused, raising his pace to a light jog. 

"Oh, right. I haven't seen those movies."

Bucky continued like he hadn't heard Steve. "But I haven't exactly got loads of cash and she only drinks the proper Russian stuff."

"Maybe just get her the DVDs?"

"She'll be disappointed it I don't get her some kind of intoxicant."

Steve laughed. "Pot, then," he joked, but Bucky's eyes lit up. 

" _That's_ a good-"

"No," Steve interrupted. "No, its illegal. I was kidding. No."

Bucky looked up at him, frowning. "Wait, did you say you'd never seen Star Wars?"

Steve grinned. "Sorry, never got around to it."

"Holy shit, Steve," Bucky said incredulously, slowing to a walk again. "Seriously?"

He shrugged. "Yeah."

" _Wow_. You're coming over to mine one afternoon and I'm _forcing_ you to watch them. Dude, they're like the best movies ever."

Steve grinned. "If you say so."

Bucky grinned at him before continuing, "But what if she already has the DVDs? Steve, I need you to find out if she has them already."

"Why me?!"

"Because she likes you, and she won't expect that I've managed to convince _you_ of all people to do _my_ dirty work."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Bucky made a gesture with his arms. "Just... You know... Because you're so..."

Steve raised an eyebrow at him.

"... _Good_."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Why does everyone always think that?"

"Because it's true! I mean, come on, if there was _one_ person here who would never go to prison-"

"Buck, not going to prison doesn't make you a good person."

"No, but it makes you better than those who do, which is a start," the other man grinned, jumping down off the treadmill and heading towards Steve, where the weights were. "I know I ask every time, but do you mind-"

"Spotting," Steve finished with a grin as Bucky set up his weights. "Sure."

"Thanks." 

"That's ok." Steve watched as Bucky settled down onto his back on the bench, reaching for the weights. "Hey, don't forget what I said last time about breathing."

Bucky chuckled. "I know, I know."

The guy was fit, Steve had to give him that. He was lifting almost as Steve was, and Steve had been reliably informed that he was a freak of nature in that respect.

Bucky spoke, interrupting Steve's train of thought. 

"Hey, could you take a photo of me on my phone and send it to Nat? She doesnt believe I'm strong enough to lift this." He nodded towards the barbel in his hands. "She's such an asshole sometimes."

Steve raised his eyebrows, smirking. "Yeah, buddy, sure." He picked Bucky's phone off the floor and flipped it open. "You have a text from your mother," he said conversationally as he snapped a photo, clicking on Natasha's name in his contacts and pressing 'send'.

"What's it say?" Bucky asked through gritted teeth, and Steve noticed his arms tremble slightly as he raised the barbel. 

"Don't push yourself too far," Steve warned, before reading out the message. "Uhh, it says: 'Henry went to visit yesterday. Your turn, shitpot. Love Ma xxx'." He raised his eyebrows at Bucky. "Shitpot?"

Bucky dropped the barbel with a grunt, sitting up and cricking his neck loudly. "She only calls me that when she's trying to be motivational." He plucked his phone out of Steve's hands as he stood up, rolling his shoulders. "What time is it?"

"7:45."

"Cool." He turned away and began tugging his shirt off, heading towards the showers. "Hey, I'm gonna make a coffee run once I'm dressed, do you want something? Nat's got me getting her a latte and Darcy wants a macchiato, so if there's anything you want-"

"I'm good," Steve promised, and Bucky grinned at him before turning away again.

Steve caught sight of a flash of ink on his left shoulder. "Nice tattoo," he commented, gesturing to it. "What's it mean?"

Bucky glanced at the two crossed machine rifles inked over his shoulder, with the outline of a star above them and the initials 'H.C' underneath. "Oh, uhh, it stands for the Howling Commandos. It was the name of a task force- a military commando unit- that I fought in. All seven of us got it done. Except Jim; he chickened out half way through so he only has the initials."

Steve laughed. "'Commando unit'? That sounds... Classified."

Bucky grinned back at him. "Nah, not classified; just complicated, I guess. Long story. Boring."

"Oh come on, none of your stories are boring."

Bucky stared at him for a moment, lips quirking upwards in a grin, before he headed into the locker rooms for a shower. "I'll see you later, pal."

"Later, Buck."

Steve had two free periods that morning, so after he was finished setting up the gym hall for his third period class, he went up to the staff room to grab some toast.

"Morning Tasha, Bruce," he greeted as he stepped into the staff room, moving over to the little kitchen and popping some bread into the toaster. 

"Hey Steve," Natasha was grinning. "Did you see James this morning?"

"Yep, same as every morning."

"Did he ask _you_ to take the picture of-"

"Yep, he did."

Natasha rolled her eyes, laughing. "He's so _proud_ sometimes."

"Have I missed something?" Bruce questioned over a mug. 

"It's nothing," Steve assured him. "Natasha and Bucky have some kind of weird blood feud going on."

"No," the redhead interrupted, "He's just convinced that he's way better at everything than he actually is. And I really wish you guys wouldn't call him Bucky."

"Betty's like that," Bruce commented with a nod. "She likes to pretend that she knows what I'm talking about when I help Tony with malfunctions with JARVIS over the phone."

"Betty," Steve repeated. "Your wife?"

Bruce nodded. "I keep forgetting you guys haven't met."

"I haven't met her either," Natasha pouted.

Steve's toast flew out of the toaster as it pinged. He snatched it off the floor where it had landed and started buttering one side. 

"She's coming with me to Tony and Pepper's Halloween party in a few weeks, will you be there?"

"Sure, I've got no better plans."

"Steve?"

Steve shrugged as he went to join them at the table, toast in hand. "Yeah, I'm there."

"Then yeah, you'll meet Betty." Bruce smiled. 

Natasha smiled warmly back. "I bet we'll love her, Bruce."

The bell rang for second period. 

"You will," Bruce promised as he stood. "Sorry kids, gotta dash, I've got a class."

"Bye, Bruce!"

Steve waved at Bruce as he left, taking a huge bite of toast.

"So," Natasha said, eyeing him with a grin. "Every morning?"

Steve blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You said you see James every morning," she prompted as she watched him expectantly. 

"Most mornings," Steve corrected himself with a shrug, jamming the rest of his toast into his mouth. "He comes into the gym."

"Oh, right." Natasha casually stirred her coffee with a teaspoon, watching Steve with an expression to innocent to be real. "What do you think of him? Of James?"

_Oh, she likes him. That has to be it._

"He's a really nice guy," Steve told her, grinning. "He's promised to introduce me to Star Wars at some point."

Natasha's jaw fell open. "You _haven't_ seen _Star Wars?"_

"Why is everyone so shocked about that?"

 _"_ Have you been living under a _rock_?! James is right, you need to be educated." _  
_

Steve grinned. "Are _you_ offering now, too?"

Natasha was shaking her head, like she was disappointed. "You shock me, Steve. And no, not offering anything but my company- can I get in on that? You and James, his place, Friday night. If you see him before I do, let him know."

"Let him know _he's_ having us over?"

"Yep. Any problems, tell him it was my idea."

"Isn't Friday your birthday?"

"Exactly; he can't say no. I might ask Clint to come too. I'd do it at my place, but his is closer, and my DVD player's broken."

Steve laughed. "Okay. Fine." Steve assumed that meant she at least had the DVDs already. He made a mental note to tell Bucky. "You two seem to get on really well."

Natasha laughed. "I've known him since I was nineteen, it's not really a surprise."

"How did you guys meet? He started telling me the story one time but he got cut off."

Natasha grinned. "It's not an interesting story, really. In... 2005, I think? Around then; the 107th- his unit at the time- were stationed in Ukraine-"

"I never knew we had forces in Ukraine."

"Oh, we don't. Not _officially_. Anyway, him and six others were captured and detained by the Russian militants that they were fighting. He was the only one of the men that spoke Russian. He managed to get a hold of one of the guards' radios and impersonate him, sending _us_ information in code. A couple weeks later, I was sent in to try and get them out. I totally saved his ass."

 _That's_ definitely _an interesting story._

 _"_ Seems like you guys have quite the history," Steve chuckled. 

"Yeah, I guess." Natasha lightly punched his shoulder. "So you like him?"

"I do." _I can_ definitely _see them dating, they're perfect for each other_.  

"Do you think he's hot?"

Steve laughed. "What does it matter what _I_ think about that?"

Natasha gave him a confused look, opening her mouth to reply, but was interrupted when the headmaster pushed through the door. 

"Hey Nick," Natasha said easily, smiling up at him. "Got the morning off?"

"Not so much," Fury sighed, adjusting his eyepatch slightly as he went over to where Steve and Natasha were sitting at the table. "Need a word with you, Rogers, actually."

"Oh, sure," Steve nodded as he got to his feet.

"Can you walk and talk?"

"Yes sir, I sure can."

"Good. Romanoff," Fury acknowledged as he started to leave the room.

"See you later," Steve promised her, hurrying after the headmaster. "So what's this about, sir?"

"For the hundredth time, Rogers, you don't have to call me 'sir'," Fury sighed as he walked down the hallway, leaving Steve jogging slightly to keep up.

"Sorry."

"Anyway, this is about the gym facilities. I was thinking that since the stationary bike broke last year, and there's all that mildew shit on the wall, maybe we should set aside some funds to remodel and restock."

A grin split Steve's face in half. "Seriously? I mean- yeah, yeah, we should."

"Good. So can I count on you to draw up a presentation to sell it to the board?"

"Of course," Steve said, nodding enthusiastically. "I'll get on it right away, sir."

"Rogers-"

"Sorry- Nick."

It was then that their conversation was interrupted by the sound of yelling from one of the classrooms down the hall.

Fury frowned. "What the hell..." He power-walked off down the corridor, leaving Steve to follow. 

Steve could hear Bucky's voice now, loud and clear over the sounds coming from the students. 

"Peter, that's _not_ how this is supposed to-" 

" _Barnes_ ," Fury barked as he burst through the door into the classroom, Steve following suit. " _What_  in _god's name_ is going on in-"

"Hey sir," Bucky said awkwardly after a second. He was wearing a black pirate hat and sunglasses, and holding a water pistol, standing on his desk. He was also completely soaking wet.

He pulled off the sunglasses, looking guilty. "Um..."

Steve looked around the classroom. All of the desks were pushed up against the wall, and the students were split into two groups- some wearing red ribbons and some sporting blue; all holding water pistols identical to Bucky's. They had all frozen in place as soon as the headmaster had walked in, and the scene was so comical that Steve had to hold back a laugh.

Nick Fury was just staring now, with one eyebrow raised. He sighed. "What are you doing, Barnes."

"We're actually reenacting the civil war. Kinetic learning, uh," Bucky scratched the back of his head, "it sinks in faster when you do it."

Steve snorted, quickly turning away and covering his mouth.

"Right," Fury said slowly. "Barnes?"

"Sir?"

"Put all the desks back when you're done."

Bucky grinned widely. " _Yes_ , sir."

Fury stood in the doorway for a few more seconds, before shaking his head with a sigh and leaving the room.

Bucky turned to shoot his megawatt grin at Steve instead. "I totally just got away with that."

"Somehow," Steve laughed, watching as the students resumed shooting at each other with water pistols. "Oh, hey, Tasha's already got the DVDs. And she told me to tell you that we're both coming over to your house on Friday to watch them. Clint may come too." He held up his hands in an apology. "Wasn't my idea-"

"No, that's great!" Bucky nodded enthusiastically. "Hell yeah, come over. Star Wars night it is. I'll make a cake or something. Now if you'll excuse me..." He smirked, putting his sunglasses back on and turning to the students, raising his water pistol. 

Steve couldn't help but grin as he left, closing Bucky's classroom door behind him.

 

*

 

"Happy birthday, Tasha," Steve smiled as he pulled the grinning redhead into a hug. "How's it feel to be 27?"

"Exactly the same as it felt to be 26," Natasha laughed, kissing his cheek. "Thank you, Steve."

"This is for you," he said as he offered her a small giftwrapped package. "It's not much, but..."

"I'm sure I'll love it," she assured him as she took it. "I'll open it at James's later. You're still coming to that, right?"

Steve grinned. "Of course I am."

Natasha smiled warmly at him. "And you don't mind giving me and Clint a ride there?"

Steve shrugged. "Not at all."

It was at that moment that Tony barged into the staff room, Pepper following at his heels. 

"Happy birthday," he announced loudly, beaming at Natasha. "Look, I baked you a pie!"

"JARVIS baked a pie," Pepper corrected, giving Natasha a hug. "Happy birthday, sweetie."

Natasha smiled. "Thanks Pep." She smirked at Tony. "And thank JARVIS for the pie for me, Stark."

"Excuse me, who do you think programmed him to _bake_?"

"Bruce, probably," Steve laughed.

"...Well, you're not wrong."

Natasha winked at him. "Thanks anyway, Tony."

"Duh, of course, you're welcome."

"Where's the birthday girl?!" Bucky strode through the doors with a huge grin on his face, opening his arms. "Happy birthday, kid."

Natasha laughed as he enveloped her in his arms. "I'm not _that_ much younger than you."

"But you're still a kid to me," he said with a grin, affectionately ruffling her hair.

Steve watched with a smile as she laughed and shoved him away, moving over to where Clint and Bruce were chatting by the microwave.

"So, what did you get her?"

"Huh?" Steve glanced up at Bucky, who was watching him with a curious smile. 

"What did you get Nat for her birthday?"

"Oh," Steve smiled, "it's a bracelet. What did you end up getting?"

Bucky grinned. "Uhh, scotch, and the box set of Friends." He pouted. "I think you've out-gifted me."

Steve raised an eyebrow with a grin. "Aren't you making her a cake later though?"

Bucky immediately brightened up. "That's true!"

Steve laughed, rolling his eyes. "That makes us even."

Bucky chuckled, clapping him on the back. "Good man."

"Hey, so what kind of time do you want us to get to yours later?"

"Good question; is around five okay? I've got some stuff I need to get done first. And my apartment's a total mess."

Steve snorted. "Buck, I don't think any of us would care-"

"I care," Bucky interrupted, and Steve smiled. 

"Yeah, alright."

"Are you guys staying over?"

"What?"

Bucky stared at him expectantly. "Are you lot staying over tonight at mine? The movies are pretty long. I don't mind either way, I just need to know if I need to pick up breakfast or not."

"Oh," Steve said, "I dunno, Natasha never said-"

Bucky grinned. "Then _you_ decide."

Steve shrugged, smiling awkwardly at him. "It's your house. You decide."

The dark-haired man laughed. "Then yeah, you're staying. I'll tell Nat and Clint later."

Steve grinned. "Sounds good. Hey, I gotta run, I have a class; text me your address?"

"Nat knows the address; you're still taking her, right?"

"Yeah; her _and_ Clint."

"Alright, cool." Bucky gave him one of his signature dazzling smiles, and Steve couldn't help but smile right back. "I'll see you later, then."

"Yeah," Steve agreed, turning to leave. "See you." He almost ran straight into Darcy on his way out, who bustled past him screaming Natasha's name and waving around a small plastic baggy that was full of some kind of suspicious plant.

Steve decided he didn't really want to know.

The rest of the day went by pretty fast after that.

At lunchtime, the staff threw a mini-party for Natasha in the staff room.

It was supposed to be a surprise, but Steve was 80% sure Bucky had accidentally let it slip, because when they had walked into the room together he'd looked guilty and she'd been very smug. But nobody else seemed to notice.

Steve watched as Bucky spread icing from a cupcake all over Natasha's nose, laughing the whole time, and couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. There was clearly _something_ between those two.

"Hey Steve," Phil said as he collapsed down on the couch to Steve's right. "Something up?"

"Nah," Steve shook his head, smiling sideways at Coulson. "Nothin'."

He had then spent the rest of the day either teaching or writing up the presentation on the gym for Fury. 

At 5, he met Clint and Natasha in the car park, and together they piled into Steve 's car and drove to Bucky's apartment building, with Natasha giving directions from the passenger seat.

"What number is he in?" Clint asked as they trudged up the stairs. "Please say it's not on, like, the tenth floor or something."

"He could've _told_ us the elevator was broken," Steve complained, and Natasha punched him on the shoulder.

"He's in number 22, asshole, and he wouldn't even notice it was broken because he never uses elevators."

"Why the hell not?" Clint asked incredulously. "That's kinda weird, right, that's not just me?"

"He told me once it was because he got trapped in one as a kid," Natasha shrugged. "That would terrify him forever. He's odd like that."

 _That's kind of adorable_. 

They finally reached Bucky's apartment. Natasha stepped around Steve and Clint to knock three times on the door.

The door was pulled open a few seconds later.

"Hey," Bucky beamed at all of them as he stepped out of the way, making room for them to enter around him. "Come on in. Make yourselves at home and all that."

He had changed since earlier, Steve noticed; he was now wearing grey track suit pants and a navy blue t-shirt, one that really brought out the colour of his eyes. 

"No issues getting here, I trust?" Bucky asked casually as he kicked the door shut after them, padding barefoot around and into the kitchen, where the sweet smell of lemon cake batter was wafting from. 

"Nope," Steve called over his shoulder as he stepped into Bucky's living room and glanced around. "Something smells good," he commented idly, catching sight of a few photos on the mantelpiece and wandering over to take a closer look.

Natasha had made herself at home on Bucky's couch, stretching out like a cat and flicking through the TV channels with the remote. 

"Thanks; it's Nat's cake."

Clint perched awkwardly on the couch beside Natasha. "Hey Barnes, you could've told us that the elevator doesn't work."

"Doesn't it? My bad."

Natasha snorted. "Told you. "

Steve picked out young Bucky in a second in each of the photographs; in every one he wore the same captivating grin. 

There was one in the middle of him and Natasha, both a few years younger, as well as a few other men that Steve didn't recognize. They were all wearing military uniforms. Bucky was staring straight into the camera, trying not to smile. Natasha was grinning up at him. The guy to Bucky's left seemed to be applauding, head bowed in laughter. Everyone else was grinning over at the guy to Natasha's right whose head was thrown back with laughter. 

Steve smiled. "Hey, Natasha, you're in this one."

"I know, " she called back without looking.

Steve was once again reminded that clearly she spent a lot of time here, for _whatever_ reason.

"Hey," came Bucky's voice, floating in from the kitchen, "is anyone hungry? Or thirsty, even; I've got pizzas in the freezer and drinks in the fridge?"

"I'll give you a hand," Steve offered as he made his way into Bucky's tiny kitchen. His eyebrows raised when he say the state of it. "Maybe you should finish the cake before attempting to fit anything else in the oven."

Bucky rubbed his forehead with a sheepish grin, eyes sweeping across the countertops, splattered with flour and milk and various measuring instruments. The mechanical mixer was switched on, whirring loudly in the background. "I've been struggling with the icing."

"I can see that."

"Lemon icing, actually."

"Nice."

"It's a family recipe."

"Oh?"

"I can't really remember it."

"Right." Steve snorted with laughter. "Maybe phone someone and _ask_?"

Bucky stared at him. "That's a last resort, Steve. Totally last resort. You better hope to god it doesn't come to that. "

Steve laughed, heading over to the fridge. "Okay, okay."

"James?" Came Natasha's voice from the other room, "How the hell do you work your DVD player?"

"Well, _first_ , you need to plug it in-"

Steve heard Clint's laughter, followed by a yelp of either surprise or pain, he couldn't tell.

"I got it," came Natasha's cool voice, and Bucky turned to grin at Steve. 

"Hopeless."

"Poor Barton," Steve smirked. He grabbed a few beers out of the fridge. "Are these fair game?"

"Help yourself."

Steve left the kitchen and handed a beer each to Clint and Natasha before collapsing down on the couch beside the lounging redhead. "Have you got it working now?"

"Yes," Natasha said haughtily, glancing over her shoulder towards the kitchen. "James, you coming? Clint, put the thingy in."

"Which one?"

"Number 4."

Steve watched with a frown as Clint inserted the fourth disk into the DVD player. "Why are be starting with the fourth one?"

"Oh my god," Clint deadpanned, "You've never seen them."

"Because the fourth one was made first- _James_!"

"Jesus, keep your panties on, I'm coming!" Bucky half jogged into view, holding a wooden spoon that dripped icing all over the floor as he walked. "Hey, just start without me, I'm kinda busy with the-"

There was a loud crashing noise from the kitchen, and Bucky froze, eyes widening. He slowly turned around, and Steve could tell by his expression that he was praying he hadn't blown up his oven or something. He disappeared into the kitchen.

Steve met Clint's eyes for a brief second. He fought back a laugh. 

"Don't worry!" Bucky called triumphantly. "It's nothing, the mixer just fell off the counter. But the icing's supposed to be significantly more solid than this."

Steve could see a puddle beginning to form in the kitchen door. "I think you should phone someone for the damn recipe, Buck."

"No." 

The opening credits for the movie started to roll.

"Do you need help cleaning that up?"

"You'll miss the movie!" Natasha whined, grabbing his arm. 

"I got it," Bucky's voice called reassuringly, before Steve heard a loud smash and a ' _fuck_ ' come from the kitchen. 

"You can fill me in," he told Natasha as he stood up. "I'll be able to hear most of it anyway."

He entered the kitchen and almost immediately tripped over Bucky, who was lying on his back in the middle of the floor, staring up at the ceiling. There was icing sugar all over his shirt and in his hair. The rest of the bag must've fallen, too, because there was a white powder coating almost the entire floor.

"I give up, Steve."

"No you don't."

"I do."

"Just call your mom."

"Are you kidding?!"

"Buck, look at the state of your kitchen."

Bucky pouted up at him. "We could just _buy_ a cake."

"Too late now. You've committed. Call your mom."

"I'll call my _sister_ ," Bucky grumbled. "But only if you help clean."

"But he has to watch the _movie_ , James!"

"Fine; do _you_ wanna help? Does Clint?"

Steve grinned as he heard the pair muttering to eachother.

Finally, Natasha sighed loudly, and called back, " _Fine_."

Bucky grinned up at Steve from where he was still lying on the floor. "I'll make you watch the beginning later, though. Don't think you're getting out of this."

Steve snorted. "Just phone your fucking sister."

Five minutes later, Steve was wiping up the remainder of the the icing sugar into a paper towel and tossing it in the trash. 

Bucky was leaning with his hips against the counter, holding the phone in between his ear and his shoulder, squeezing lemons into a bowl with his free hands.

"Is that Dan? Hey, man, it's Bu- um, James. Yeah, yeah, not so bad, you? Good; listen, is Anna around?"

Silence as he waited for a reply.

"Oh, no, don't worry about it, I'll try her later maybe. Thanks anyway. What? No, it's not about Xander. _No_ , please don't tell her I called. No really. Please don't do that. Ohhhkay. Alright. Bye, pal."

Steve raised his eyebrows at Bucky, who rolled his eyes right on back. 

"It's cool, I'll try my _other_ sister." He put the lemons down and punched a different number into his phone, placing it back I between his ear and shoulder as it started ringing. 

Steve went back to mopping up the mess on Bucky's counter. 

"Hey, Jessie, it's me. No, _James_ , not- _why_ do you always confuse me with Henry? Don't you have caller ID?"

Steve snorted. 

Bucky glared at him. "It's not about Xander, no." His glare softened into a frown, and turned away from Steve for a moment. "Really? When?"

Steve could faintly hear a woman's voice through the phone, but not clearly enough to make out what she was saying.

"Crap." He sighed. "Uhh, I'll think about it." Bucky scratched his head, turning back to face Steve again. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you about that recipe for lemon icing that Ma uses. Yeah. I've been having some issues."

He paused, frowning at the floor. "Well that's great, Jess, but- what? Oh no, really, you don't have to- Jess, no, I've got people over. Jess. _Jessie_. Can't you just _tell_ me?!" He rubbed his face with his hands. "I really don't need _that_  much help," he argued weakly. "Can't you just tell me and then come around some time _tomorrow_ , after they've left?"

There was a pause.

"Hello? Jessica?"

Bucky groaned, dropping the phone onto the counter. "So my sister's coming over," he said cynically, giving Steve a resigned look. "She's 'in the area anyway' and she's going to drop by to say hello. This is your fault."

Steve grinned. "At least she can help with the icing!"

Bucky's phone rang. He snatched it up, flipping it open and pressing it to his ear, "Hello? Oh," he sighed, "Anna, hey. Sorry, I thought you were Jess. Huh? _No_ , I _told_ Dan, I _wasn't_ calling about Xander. Doesn't matter now. Yeah. Alright. Bye, sweetie." He pouted up at Steve as he dropped the phone again. "See what happens when I contact my family?"

"Who's Xander?"

Bucky sighed. "My brother."

"Why does everyone ask about him?"

Bucky gave him a weak smile. "It's a long story-"

There was a loud knock at the door.

"That was fast," Steve commented.

Bucky sighed. "Damn it. I was hoping she'd forgotten what apartment I was in."

"Who's that?" Came Clint's confused voice from the living room.

"My sister." Bucky left the kitchen, Steve following suit.

Clint opened his mouth, frowning.

"Don't ask."

"Which sister?" Natasha asked curiously as Bucky pulled open the front door.

"Jamie!" the tall, dark-haired woman in the doorway exclaimed with a smile as she dragged Bucky into a hug.

"Please don't call me that."

"Oh, don't be so grumpy."

Once she'd pulled back, Steve got a proper look at her, and holy crap, she was beautiful. She was older than Bucky, probably, and she looked almost _exactly_ like him, except with a less-defined jaw and her eyes were a darker shade of blue. She even had the same impossibly dazzling smile.

"Who're your friends, kiddo?" She asked as she stepped inside, pulling off her coat and dropping it into Bucky's arms. "You said you had friends over, right?"

"Is that Jessica?" Natasha's neck craned over the back of the sofa as she grinned widely at Bucky's sister, waving. "Hey Jess!"

" _Nat_! No way!" Jess- Jessie? Jessica- trotted over to Natasha in her tall heels, bending down to give her a hug from around the back of the couch. "James, you didn't tell me you were back in contact with Natalia!"

"Forgot to mention it," Bucky sighed as he threw his sister's coat over the back of a chair, but Jessica wasn't listening to him anymore.

Her and Natasha had started up a conversation immediately, as women tend to do, leaving Clint to sit in silence at the other end of the couch, eyes locked firmly on the TV, where _A New Hope_ was still resolutely playing in the background.

"When you get a chance," Bucky said loudly, "a little help in the kitchen would be great."

When there was no response, he let out an impatient noise of exasperation, stalking back into the kitchen on his own. 

Steve followed after a few seconds, unable to take his eyes off the dark-haired woman talking to Tasha. 

 _Bucky would make a pretty hot girl_.

Steve swore to himself that that was the last time a thought as weird as that would ever cross his mind.

Once he was back in the kitchen he resumed his job of mopping up the countertops, occasionally sneaking a glance out into the living room.

"Steve," Bucky hissed from the other side of the room, "stop checking out my sister. She's married, and my sister."

"I'm not checking out your sister!"

"You _are_!"

Steve frowned. "I'm not! She just... _Really_ looks like you."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we get that a lot."

Jessica sashayed into the room, then, interrupting their conversation. She gave Steve a friendly smile, offering her hand. "Hi, I'm Jessie, I'm Jamie's sister," she introduced warmly.

Steve smiled back, taking here hand an shaking it. "Steve Rogers."

"Did you meet Clint yet?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah, Nat introduced us. I can't believe you didn't tell me you guys were in contact again!"

"I told Ma; kind of assumed she would've let it slip already."

"No such luck. What _happened_ in here? Is this what happens when men try to run a kitchen." Jessie gazed scornfully around the kitchen, before her eyes rested on Bucky. " _James,_ " 

"Don't say it."

"Why haven't you found-"

" _Don't you say it!_ "

"-yourself a nice girl to settle down with?"

Bucky groaned loudly, head flopping back, but Jessie ignored him and plowed on.

"We're worried about you! We just don't want you to be-"

"Happy?"

"- _Alone_."

Bucky made a sound like a petulant child, stomping around the kitchen and trying to clear up the mess still residing there.

Jessie's voice was almost sympathetic when she next spoke. "Why don't you just ask Natalia out on a date or something? I mean, she told me you two were as close as anything-"

"You're worse than _Ma_!"

"I'm _just_ saying-"

"Do we have to do this _now_?!" Bucky hissed, gesturing wildly at Steve. "I'm kind of _busy_ , Jess! Just help me with the god damn icing!"

"Okay, okay," Jessica said in a pacifying tone, raising both hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm just trying to help."

"Just give me the fucking recipe already."

Steve watched on in mild amusement as Jessica started pulling various things out of cupboards, instructing Bucky on how to use them properly. 

After about ten minutes they had lapsed into silence, with Steve measuring icing sugar out onto the scales, Jessica squeezing the rest of the lemons and Bucky attempting to clean up the final dregs of the mess on the floor.

"Sebastian went to visit Xander the other day," Jessica said casually after a few minutes of quiet. "He asked about you."

"I know," Bucky muttered through gritted teeth, trying to reach under the fridge with the wet wipes. "You told me on the phone."

"Its only you and Sascha who haven't gone yet."

"I _know_."

Steve felt uncomfortable, like he was hearing a conversation he wasn't supposed to hear. He chewed his lip absently. "Um, if you guys need to talk-"

"No," Bucky snapped quickly, before his sister could open her mouth. "It's fine."

Jessica watched him with sad eyes. "He's not doing so hot, James, I _really_ think you should consider-"

"Can we not do _this_ now, either? I swear, when you're not all trying to get me a girlfriend, Xander's the only other bloody topic of conversation we have. Can't we talk about something _normal_?"

Steve shifted uncomfortably. He watched as Jessica's mouth pressed into a thin line, like Bucky had overstepped some kind of invisible boundary. But then she spoke;

"How's work?"

"It's good." Bucky met Steve's eyes for a second, and have him a slight, reassuring smile. "Infinitely better than EBH."

"It's weird how much you hated teaching there, considering you used to go there and all."

Steve heard Bucky's soft laugh from the other side of the room.

"Yeah, well, it's a bit different than my day."

Jessica laughed. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Hey kids," Clint greeted as he entered the room, leaning against the doorframe and folding his arms. "You're missing the movie."

"Ten minutes," Bucky promised. "We'll be done in ten minutes."

"Tasha's getting pissy so made it snappy, fellas. And lady; sorry."

Jessica smiled. "It's fine."

"We're almost done," Steve reassured him. 

Clint nodded and disappeared. Steve could hear him talking to Natasha in the other room, and then Tasha laughing.

Bucky stuck true to his word. Ten minutes later the icing was pretty much done, with a lot of instruction from Jessica and some less-than-happy compliance from Bucky.

"It's good," Steve said with a pleased grin as he sucked what was left from the taste test on his finger into his mouth. "Bucky, never _ever_ forget that recipe."

"Too late," Bucky smirked, rinsing out the electric mixer. "I need it written down or something."

Jessica had already started spreading the icing over the cake that Bucky'd finished earlier. "You're not allowed to write it down, Jamie, that's against the rules."

"Seriously?"

" _Yes_! No written copies of her recipes, that was Ma's first rule."

"Ughhhh."

"It smells so nice," Steve sighed, staring hungrily at the cake. "If Tasha doesn't finish it, _I_ sure will."

"No _way_ , Steve. I made it, I get the leftovers."

" _Excuse_ me, you couldn't have done the icing without me!"

"We would've managed."

"That's such bullshit," Steve snorted.

"I know. Thanks for your help, Jess." Bucky's words were sincere enough, and his sister cracked a surprised smile. 

"It's fine. It was good to see you."

"You too, mostly."

Steve grinned. "Awww. Do you two need a moment?"

Bucky laughed, elbowing him in the ribs. "Fuck off."

Jessica smiled, finishing the last of the icing. "Well, there you go." She straightened up, brushing icing sugar off her dress. "I should probably get going, Andy was supposed to be doing dinner tonight."

"Give my love to the girls."

"Yeah, I will." She leaned forwards, and Bucky kissed her once on each cheek. 

"And don't forget your coat. I chucked it over a chair."

She smiled, lightly squeezing his shoulder, before turning to Steve. "It was nice meeting you, Steve."

"Yeah, you too," Steve replied warmly. "Drive safely."

"I will." She left the kitchen and Bucky followed, clapping Steve on the shoulder as he walked past. 

Steve heard Jessica saying goodbye to Natasha and Clint, and then the sound of the front door clicking shut.

"Hey Steve, bring the cake in here, would ya?"

"Sure," Steve called back, carefully picking up the cake and carrying it into the other room.

"So, Nat, what do you think?" Bucky asked, beaming at her as Steve placed the cake down on the table.

"Smells good, dudes," Clint commented from his perch on the couch.

"Are we eating it now?" Natasha asked, grinning up at Bucky. "Can we eat it now?"

"Hell yeah we can."

Steve grinned as he collapsed down into a chair, watching as Bucky cut the cake and Natasha leaned on her elbows at the table, watching him and smiling.

"You know, Buck, considering how much you complain about your family, your sister didn't seem to bad," Steve commented five minutes later with a mouthful of lemon cake. "This is _amazing_ , by the way."

"Individually they're not so bad," Bucky conceded, spraying cake crumbs all over Natasha as he spoke.

" _James_!"

"Sorry."

Natasha pointedly brushed the crumbs off her clothes, eyes narrowed at Bucky. "Did Jessica talk to you about Xan-"

"Don't _you_ start."

Natasha held up her hands in surrender. "Okay, alright."

Clint glanced from one to the other, confused. "What's this?"

"Nothing," Bucky muttered, "don't worry your pretty little head about it."

Clint smirked. "You think I'm pretty?"

Bucky snorted. "Well, I've seen prettier, but I guess you ain't so bad."

Steve met his eyes for a second, and Bucky gave him a wink.

He fought back a laugh as he looked away, eyes automatically locking on the TV, where he was pretty sure Star Wars was still playing on in the background. He frowned. "Hey, isn't that Indiana Jones?"

There was a chorus of groaning from his three friends.

" _Seriously_?"

"Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me."

"Well, you're not wrong."

Steve grinned. "Come on, I'm screwing with you. I've never seen the movies; I'm not living in a cave."

"Oh thank god."

"I had a _huge_ crush on Han Solo when I was a kid."

Clint raised his eyebrows at Bucky. "Not anymore?"

Bucky laughed, shrugging. " _Well_."

"Nah," Steve shook his head, "Viggo Mortensen did it for me. Aragorn, man. Aragorn."

There was a stunned silence.

Clint was trying hard to fight back a grin.

Natasha was beaming into her glass of wine, avoiding looking straight at him.

Bucky stared at him like he'd found a unicorn.

Steve blinked. "What?"

"Nothing," Natasha half laughed. "Just, that's the first time you've ever mentioned a... A type, of some sort. Or a gender preference."

Steve flushed. "Right." Was it really the first time he'd mentioned it? His stomach twisted uncomfortably.

Bucky let out a snort of laughter, draping an arm around Steve's shoulders. "Pal, I've got nothing against Aragorn, okay, but trust me, after watching these movies you'll be head over heels for Harrison Ford."

"It's a shame he got older," Natasha mused. "He was seriously hot when he was younger."

"Oh, psh, like _you_ would've had a chance," Bucky scoffed.

"More than you! Hell, I have more chance than you just for being _female_."

"Ooooh!" Clint laughed loudly, applauding in his chair. "Shots fired!"

Steve made a snorting sound as he tried to stop himself from laughing.

Bucky stuck his tongue out at her. "You all _wish_ you looked like me, don't even lie."

Steve grinned, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms. "See, Buck, the bragging? That's not attractive."

Clint was now practically pissing himself, and Bucky gave him a half shocked, half impressed expression. 

" _Jesus_ , Steve, that was _cutting_!"

"Aw, you hurt poor Jamie's _feeeelings_."

"No, come on, I can take it; this is the same guy that watches me with an unimpressed look every time I try to lift the barbel in the gym."

"Dude, that's just my face, I'm not unimpressed," Steve argued over the sounds of Clint's laughter.

"You sure look unimpressed," Bucky grinned, and Steve knew he was being teased. 

"Well I'm not!"

"You _sure_?"

"Yes!"

"Boys, boys, shut up, you're missing the best part of the movie."

"He's missed _most_ of it at this point, does it matter anymore?"

Natasha punched Clint in the arm.

" _Why_ do you keep doing that?" 

"Watch the fuckin' movie, Clint."


	3. The Halloween Party

"What costume are you wearing to Tony and Pepper's thing tomorrow?"

Bucky shrugged, pushing the dishwasher shut with his hip and then heading over to the sink to rinse out the frying pan. "I'm not sure yet. I'll probably just end up wearing my army service uniform or something."

Natasha flicked her eyebrows up. "Wow, boring. That's hardly even a costume."

"It's all I have!"

"Will it still even fit you?"

"Hey," Bucky said accusingly, jabbing the frying pan in her direction. "I haven't put on _that_ much weight." He crinkled his nose as he looked down at his stomach. "Maybe a tiny bit around the middle..."

Natasha smirked at him from over her coffee, putting her bare feet up on his kitchen table. "I don't wanna hurt your ego, James, but you're _definitely_ pudgier than you were when we served."

"Not all of us are lucky enough to have your stupid fast metabolism, you know."

"Maybe you should try paying more attention to _working out_ at the gym, and _less_ attention to the hot guy who works there."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Oh, ha ha."

Natasha grinned. "Seriously! I thought you told me you were gonna stop chasing that."

"I have! I just think he's a nice guy, is all." Bucky stuck the pan under the hot water tap and started scrubbing. "We're friends, Nat. You know what friends are? You _must've_ had one once."

"That's hilarious." Natasha rolled her eyes. "You're hilarious. I'm sitting in your kitchen at 11am on a Saturday, James, what are we if not friends?" 

Bucky shrugged, shooting her a teasing grin. "Coworkers, at best."

Natasha smirked. "Shut up. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know, Pepper and Sam are trying to set Steve up on a date."

Bucky flicked up his eyebrows, rinsing the now-clean pan off under the faucet before resting it on the side of the counter to dry. "With who?"

"The school nurse, Peggy Carter. She's really nice," Natasha added. "I think they might hit it off."

"Okay," Bucky said after a moment, shrugging. "Why are you telling me?" He sat down in the chair opposite her, snagging a leftover piece of bacon off her plate and reaching for his coffee.

"I just thought you might want to know."

"Why? 'S none of my business." He tried to ignore the weird twisting feeling in his chest. 

"Alright, okay." Natasha eyed her coffee mug with an innocent expression. "My bad."

Bucky absently tapped out a rhythm on the wooden table with his fingertips, chewing on his lip.

They remained in awkward silence for a few minutes, until Natasha finally broke it.

"You're so pathetic."

Bucky frowned. "Were did _that_ come from?"

Natasha sighed. "James, when was the last time you had sex?"

"I... I refuse to answer that question."

Natasha let out a snort of laughter. "A month? Two?"

"A month and a half," Bucky muttered sourly.

"Don't you think it's kind of weird that you stopped screwing people around the same time you met Steve?"

"I've been focusing on my teaching," Bucky argued, but Natasha just rolled her eyes and spoke over him.

"James, come on. When we met, you used to sleep with anything that _moved_ -"

"I was 22! And I was only like that because I drank a lot," Bucky argued loudly.

"So why have you stopped going out and getting drunk at the weekends? You're not even a morning person, why do you get up early every day to go to the _gym_?!"

"Maybe I've finally matured into the adult my parents knew I would become," Bucky said sarcastically.

"You totally like him."

"No-"

"You _do_! And not just in a 'he's hot and I want to sleep with him' way, you  _like_ him. James Buchanan Barnes has _actually_ developed a _crush_ on the PE teacher. And you won't _do_ anything about it."

" _You_ told me not to!"

"No, I told you not to screw with him if you had no intentions of following through. Turns out you totally do."

"That's just not true."

"Is! You like him."

Bucky groaned. "Nat-"

"You liiike him!"

"What, so you think I should go for it?"

"Absolutely not. It's too late now, like I said; we're trying to set him up with Peggy-"

"Oh, so now it's 'we'? I thought it was Pepper and Wilson."

Natasha at least had the grace to blush. "I might've had some input."

"Right."

"Oh come on, James, we're just trying to help him out."

"Yeah, yeah, I get that."

"At the time I didn't know you _liked_ him-"

"Nat, I know, it's fine."

"He seems to like you though-"

"Why are you doing this?" Bucky interrupted. "Are you doing this just to confuse the shit out of me? Because it's working."

Natasha's lips curled up in a smile. "I'm enjoying watching you struggle with yourself."

"I hate you." He raised his mug unhappily to his lips.

Natasha grinned wickedly. "Then why did you invite me over for breakfast?"

Bucky smirked. " _Did_ I invite you? Because I remember you _showing up_ ataround 6:30 this morning- _waking me up_ \- complaining about a late night and asking me for bacon. Which I provided- very generously, by the way, so you're welcome."

His friend smiled, rolling her eyes. "Whatever, loser, thanks for the bacon. My point still stands."

Bucky grinned into his coffee. "I honestly don't know why I put up with you."

"Because you love me," Natasha grinned back. "And because I've very generously decided to help you get a boyfriend. Or girlfriend, really, whatever you want."

Bucky sighed. "I don't want _anyone_ , Nat. Really. I'm happy being single. Or at least I _would_ be if people stopped reminding me that I'm going to die alone."

The redhead smiled. "Fine." Her warm smile turned into an evil grin. "And, you know, I'm always here if you decide to listen to your mom and marry me after all."

Bucky let out a snort of laughter. "Oh, yeah, of course. _How_ could I forget." He drained the rest of his coffee in one go. "So, back to our earlier conversation, what are _you_ gonna wear to Stark's?"

Natasha shrugged, balancing on Bucky's chair with only two of its four legs on the ground. "Maybe I'll go as Mia from Pulp Fiction. Ooh, ooh, or Alabama from True Romance."

"Definitely Mia," Bucky decided. "Alabama's style wouldn't suit you. And you'd look cool with dark hair."

Natasha grinned. "I'll keep that in mind, but it's still 50/50. You'll see tomorrow I guess. So as my official gay best friend, do you wanna go shopping for costumes? Maybe do my hair?"

"Fuck you," Bucky laughed, kicking her chair under the table and nearly causing her to fall flat on the floor. "I don't even count as gay, I like women too."

"You like _everyone,_ " Natasha mused. "I think you're pansexual, actually."

Bucky blinked. "I'm attracted to pans?"

"No," she laughed, "pan as in the Greek. It means you're sexually attracted to _people,_ regardless of gender."

Bucky nodded slowly. "That's an actual thing?"

Natasha nodded back. "According to the internet."

" _Cool_..." Bucky reached into his pocket and lit up a cigarette, to the disgust of the woman sitting opposite him.

" _God_ , James, _inside_?"

Bucky shrugged. "I don't see why not; it's _my_ apartment."

"I really wish you wouldn't smoke, you know."

"I hardly smoke anymore, though. Not like I did before. Maybe one or two a day."

Natasha crinkled her nose. "I'd rather that number was zero."

"Baby steps, Nat, baby steps."

She sighed. "Guess so."

Bucky smiled, tapping out the ash into his empty coffee cup. "Do you want me to give you a lift back to your place?"

"Is that a subtle hint for me to go?" Natasha grinned up at him. 

Bucky laughed as he stood up, shaking his head. "No, I was just asking. I'm supposed to be going to the dentist at 12:15 though." He opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice, taking another drag from his cigarette before dropping it out the open window and tipping the juice into his mouth straight from the carton.

"Ugh. You're an animal."

"Don't insult me in my own kitchen, Nat, I can kick you out like _that_." He snapped his fingers as he said the last word, smirking at her.

"Yeah, but you won't though."

"You don't _know_ that."

"I kinda do."

Bucky's phone rang in his pocket. He stuck his tongue out at her as he pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open. "You don't get bacon next time, then- hello?"

"Bucky? It's Steve."

Bucky grinned, forgetting the man on the other end couldn't see him. "Yeah, pal, I know. Caller ID. What's up?"

"Who is it?" Natasha pestered from behind him. "James? Who is it?"

"Steve," he mouthed at her, before raising a finger to his lips to silence her and shooting her a glare. 

"Uhh, I was just wondering what the dress code situation was for Stark's thing tomorrow. I would've called _him_ , but-"

"You'd have been on the phone for weeks, yep, I know." Bucky threw his head back as he drained what was left in the carton of orange juice. "Well, it's a costume party, so I'd wear a costume if I were you. Mine's gonna be a surprise- not really, it's just embarrassingly lazy, and Nat's going as- Nat, did you decide on Mia or Alabama?"

"I haven't _decided_ yet, I _told_ you."

"Okay, well she hasn't made her mind up yet, but at present it's between Mia Wallace and Alabama Worley."

Steve seemed to hesitate before replying. "Oh, is she with you right now?"

"Yeah, she's right here, wanna say hi?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt or anything... Just tell her I say hello."

"You're not, don't worry, we just finished breakfast; Steve says hello," Bucky relayed to Natasha, who raised her mug in acknowledgement and rolled her eyes.

"Hey, Steve."

"She says hi back."

Steve snorted on the other end of the line. "Right. So I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Yeah, man, see you tomorrow. Don't forget to wear a costume."

"I'll sure do my best."

The line went dead.

Bucky snapped his phone shut and slid it back into his pocket.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "That was fast."

Bucky shrugged, lowering himself back into his chair. "He just wanted to know what kind of stuff we were wearing. Not exactly a three-hour conversation starter, Nat."

"That's true." Natasha stretched her arms out behind her back. "What time is it?"

"Almost 11:45."

"I should probably get going, I need to find some bits and pieces for my costume. Wanna come with?"

"I'd love to but I can't; dentist, remember?" Bucky ran a hand through his hair. "You need a ride home?"

"Nah, I'm good. I'll get the bus."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." She stood up, clicking her knuckles. "Where did you put my shoes?"

"Oh, they're just by the door. See you tomorrow, Nat."

"Yeah, see you. Thanks for breakfast." Natasha smiled at him, picking her jacket off the back of her chair and walking barefoot out of the kitchen. Bucky heard the front door open, and then seconds later the sound of it swinging shut.

Bucky stretched out in his chair with a sigh. His mind drifted back to Steve.

Natasha had been right; he _did_ like Steve. But although he'd never met Peggy, he was sure that if Nat thought they were good for eachother then they probably were. His old friend could be an ass sometimes, but she _was_ a pretty good matchmaker, and a very good judge of character. 

Bucky glanced down at himself; he was still in his pajamas, and there were stains on his shirt from where grease from the bacon had spat up at him as it cooked. 

_I should probably shower._

He got to his feet with a yawn and trudged into his bedroom.

The door clicked shut behind him.

 

*

 

Steve had known Tony came from a lot of money, but _damn_. If the size of his house was anything to go by, he was a hell of a lot richer than he had originally thought.

The damn thing was the size of Steve's entire apartment building.

Steve paid the cab driver and stepped out onto the street, absently fixing his hat as he crossed the road and approached Stark's massive house.

The pathway leading up to the front door was lit by blacklights hidden in the bushes, giving everything a purple-ish tinge in the already dark early evening. Steve could hear the music blaring from inside as he approached, jogged up the steps, and knocked three times on the heavy oak door.

Barely a minute passed before Tony had pulled open the huge door and was grinning widely at Steve, champagne in hand. The music was even louder now, and Steve recognised the sound of The Black Keys blaring from what he assumed was the main room.

Tony's hair was down to his shoulders, which Steve assumed was probably a wig. On the top of his head was a bejeweled grown.

"Rogers, you made it! Dude, nice costume; I was gonna go as a pirate but I decided on this old thing instead. Come on in!"

Steve smiled as he stepped inside, raising an eyebrow at Stark as he passed him. "Are you... Dressed as a king?"

"It seemed fitting."

"Of course it did."

"Here," Tony shoved his glass of champagne into Steve's hand and shoved him forwards. "Go join the party! Through those doors- there you go. I'm on door duty for another ten minutes, but some of the others are there; Bruce and his wife, Darcy, Barnes I think. Ask Pepper to introduce you to the people you don't know- trust me, there's a lot of those. Oh, and have fun!"

Feeling a little intimidated Steve followed Tony's instructions and pushed open the doors at the other end of the hall. His ears and eyes were immediately assaulted.

The music was _loud_. Like, split-your-eardrums loud. Combine that with the purple-ish lighting and the _vastness_ of the dark room, his brain was the perfect combination of both shocked and intensely confused.

The room he'd entered was huge. Tony had apparently spared no expense- there were waiters with bow ties and trays with glasses on them weaving in and out of the mass of people inside, but they all looked out of place compared to the guests. 

Everyone was dressed up- _everyone_ consisted of at least three hundred people- and nearly all of the costumes were absolutely awesome. At a glance, Steve recognised a John Lennon, Abraham Lincoln, Jesus (he felt a bit uncomfortable with that one), Batman and... Was that Deadpool?

The ceiling was covered in those fake spiderwebs, which also covered a few of the couches and hung down over the chandeliers, dimming the lights even further. There was a bar in the back left corner, and Steve could just about make out Natasha's figure through the fog machines, leaning up against the bar, which was probably open and probably awesome.

"Steve!"

Steve turned, blinking in confusion, towards the source of the voice yelling his name, and found his face breaking into a relieved smile when he saw Sam, dressed as... Well, dressed as a garden gnome.

"Hey," he half laughed. "This... Well, this sure is something. Nice costume, by the way."

"You too; love the pirate hat. Yeah, this is cool, isn't it?" Sam was grinning as he gestured around the busy room, toting his own glass of champagne. "I didn't expect there to be quite so many _people_..."

"Yeah, I was under that impression too."

Sam glanced curiously at the glass in his hand. "Huh. I wouldn't have pegged you as a champagne kind of man."

Steve actually laughed. "Uh, I'm not." He placed Tony's glass down on a nearby table. "Stark just handed it to me."

Sam grinned at him. "Me too, man. Come on, there's a couple more of us over by the bar."

"I thought I saw Tasha over there," Steve nodded as Sam led the way towards the bar, weaving in and out of people in fancy dress that Steve had never seen before.

"Oh, yeah, she's here. Caught a lift with Bucky I think- hey, Natasha! Look who's here!"

Natasha was wearing a huge dark overcoat- Steve assumed that meant she had decided on dressing up as Mia Wallace. She was engaged in a conversation with Clint, but she turned around when she heard Sam call her name.

"Hi fellas," she greeted warmly, "fancy seeing you here, huh?"

"You look good, Tasha," Steve smiled as she leaned in to hug him. "Although, isn't Mia supposed to have dark hair?"

"Oh, I had a wig, but it was itchy so I gave it to Stark."

Steve thought back to Tony's long hair. "That actually explains a few things."

The redhead grinned. "I like the pirate thing you've got going, Steve- the hat's neat."

Steve laughed, taking the hat off and dropping it onto Natasha's head. "It's all yours."

"Suits you," Sam told her with a grin, to which she laughed and curtseyed.

"Of course it does."

The conversation carried on but Steve stopped listening. He caught Clint's eye from a few meters away and the pair exchanged grins, before Steve looked away and started watching the people in his immediate field of vision.

He saw Darcy talking to Jane, Thor's wife- the two were really good friends; had been since grade school. Behind them he noticed Bruce and Coulson engaged in conversation with a dark-haired man in a suit and tie; one of Stark's rich scientist buddies, undoubtably. And a bit further to Banner's right, he saw Bucky.

He was wearing what looked to Steve like a formal military uniform, but it was arguably a bit tighter than regulation. He carried his dark blue jacket under his arm, giving Steve a perfect view of the muscles of his arms and back through the too-tight white dress shirt. His hair was slicked back a little, giving it a slight shine in the dim lights, and he seemed to be deep in conversation with a pretty woman that Steve had never seen before.

Steve watched as she started laughing, presumably at something Bucky had said. He felt a small pang of jealousy; but that was dumb. He knew that was dumb.

"Hey, Captain Rogers, let's go get you a proper drink."

Steve turned to raise an eyebrow at Natasha, who was smiling expectantly at him. "Captain Rogers?"

"Yeah, y'know, because you're a pirate."

When Steve didn't react, she sighed and grabbed a hold of his arm. "Bar. Now."

Steve turned to give Sam a helpless look.

Sam just shrugged. "Man, if I were you, I'd just do whatever the Soviet says before she shoots your balls off or something."

Natasha grinned at that, before tugging Steve over to the bar.

"I'll have a vodka and tonic," she told the bartender, who was _definitely_ not looking at her eyes.

Steve aimed a pointed glare at the man as he ordered his drink. "Uh, do you have any beer? Anything's good."

The guy nodded, finishing up Natasha's drink and placing it on the counter before disappearing off to wherever they kept the beer.

"So how come you kidnapped me?"

"Just wanted to talk, that's all." Natasha was watching him carefully, as if trying to pull some kind of information out of him.

"Come on, Natasha, I'm not stupid. Just tell me what's up."

The bartender came back with a pint of Sam Adams, sliding it over to Steve, who accepted it with a nod of thanks.

He took a sip, watching Natasha, waiting for her to talk.

Eventually, she broke. 

" _Ugh_ , oh my god, fine. Look, I wasn't going to do anything, because honestly I didn't think he was serious about it, but James-"

"-Is actually standing right here," came a cheerful voice off to Natasha's left. Bucky grinned as he rested an elbow on the bar, watching them, clearly revelling in the fact that neither of them had noticed his arrival. "Are you gossiping about me, Nat?"

"Jesus Christ."

Bucky smirked, before his eyes flew to Steve.

There was a brief second of silence. 

"I like your costume," he said eventually, eyes skating over Steve's body. "I haven't actually seen any other pirates."

"That's good to know," Steve chuckled. "Is that your actual gear you're wearing?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Bucky grinned as he looked down at himself. "Doesn't fit quite as nicely as it used to. And it went a bit of a funny colour when I tried to wash it. It's supposed to be a different shade of blue."

Steve didn't voice his opinion on the sizing; he was pretty sure that if he told Bucky tighter looked better he'd have to explain himself. "Thought you couldn't do ties," he commented with a smirk, gesturing to the neatly done piece of fabric around Bucky's neck.

"Nat did it," Bucky admitted, grinning back. "I swear, it wouldn't be recognisable as a tie if this was _my_ work."

"He's really hopeless," Natasha agreed, and Steve was smacked in the face by yet another reminder that there was something less than platonic about their relationship. As if her being as his house at breakfast time yesterday hadn't been enough of a clue.

There was a somewhat awkward silence following that, while Natasha absently stirred her drink and Bucky ordered his. 

"So," Bucky began after the bartender delivered his Bloody Mary, "Did you guys meet Betty yet?" 

"Was that who you were talking to?" Natasha asked conversationally, glancing up at him over her drink.

"Just now? Yeah. She's super nice. Super pretty. Super smart, too; no wonder Bruce married her."

"His type?"

"Oh, definitely."

"You guys are like teenagers," Steve found himself laughing, and the lit-up expression he got from Bucky at his laugh made his chest tighten uncomfortably.

"I feel like I'm reliving my younger years anyway, dressed like this," Bucky chuckled.

"You're only 29 still, Buck."

"Yeah, and I used to be younger than that!"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You're just lucky that uniform still fits you, James. You're a lot fatter than you used to be."

"Oh my _god_ , Natalia Alianovna Romanova. _Stop_ being rude about my weight. That's like the fourth time today _alone_."

"You bring it on yourself."

"You're _such_ an asshole."

"Who's an asshole?" Darcy appeared out of nowhere, nudging Bucky's chest with her elbow.

"Who are _you_ supposed to be?" Steve asked her as he tried to understand her costume, blinking at her messy hair and torn dress.

"Bellatrix," Darcy answered, and when she noticed Steve's look of total confusion she raised her eyebrows at him. "Bellatrix Lestrange? From Harry Potter?"

"Steve," Bucky said seriously, resting an arm on his shoulder, "Pal, you have a serious lack of pop culture knowledge. I'm kinda concerned."

"I'm _definitely_ concerned," Darcy agreed.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Harry fucking Potter, Rogers. Seriously."

"What? I never had time to read all fucking seven of those, are you kidding me?"

"Didn't you see the movies?" Bucky sounded incredulous.

"Never bothered; I hadn't read the books."

"I think we should have another movie night."

Steve snorted. "Yeah, 'cause the last one was a dream come true."

Bucky actually looked a little offended. "Hey, I tried my best-"

"I wasn't even  _invited_ ," Darcy muttered under her breath.

"Not now, children," Natasha was laughing, putting a hand on Bucky's chest and lightly shoving him back a few paces, wrapping another arm around Darcy's waist.

Bucky grinned, balling up his jacket and throwing it at her. "Come on, Nat, resorting to man-handling me this early in the evening? I'm not even drunk yet."

"You're a nightmare of a drunk." She let his coat fall to the floor.

Bucky bent over to pick it up.

Steve grinned, looking from one to the other. "What's he like?"

"I'm charming," Bucky said before the redhead could speak. "Everyone loves drunk me."

"That's actually pretty much spot on." Natasha gave Steve a warning look. "Let's just say he's not too picky about who or what he's doing. Or where he's doing it."

Steve felt slightly confused. 

"I'm curious now," Darcy mused, "is it like a manwhore thing?"

"A little like that, yeah."

"That's just _not_ true!"

Natasha laughed, looping her arm through his. "It's nothing to be ashamed of! You're _good_ at it."

Bucky frowned, eyeing her sceptically and tugging his arm away. "At what?"

"Tricking people into thinking they're special," Natasha said with a smirk, but by her tone Steve wasn't entirely convinced that she was joking.

"I swear to god, Natalia, if you weren't a girl I would _punch_ you-"

Natasha winked at Steve. "His record when I met him was 9 in a night."

Steve's jaw dropped. "9 people? In _one_ night?"

Bucky groaned loudly, hiding his face in his hands. "Wow, Nat, thanks for making me look like an asshole."

"Like I said; you bring _all_ of this on yourself."

"Oh my god, this is so embarrassing..."

Steve laughed alongside Natasha, but fortunately or unfortunately Bucky was spared any more humiliation by a loud interruption from their host.

" _Shots_ ," Tony was yelling over the music from where he was standing up on a coffee table in the middle of the room. Steve could see the waiters placing trays of shot glasses down around him. "Come on, you bunch of weinies, let's get this party started!"

Steve turned back to his friends to roll his eyes, but found that Bucky and Natasha were eyeing each other with matching wicked grins.

"Memory Lane?"

"Gosh, aren't we a little old for that one? I'm not 22 anymore, Nat."

"Alright, old man, if you're chicken then just say so."

"...$20 says I smoke you."

"You're on."

Bucky grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the table where Tony continued to announce things without much of an audience.

Steve turned to look at Darcy, who shrugged. 

"I learned a _long_ time ago not to try and out-drink Natasha. Dude, I don't know about you, but I'm definitely gonna wanna watch this." She grinned at Steve before following the pair into the crowd.

Steve found himself following right after her.

"Leave this game to the Russians, boys," Natasha announced as she shoved various rich-looking people out of her way and headed over to Tony, perching like a lady on the couch beside the table he was stood on.

Bucky sat on the couch directly opposite, smirking. He slumped back, easing into the cushions, the polar opposite of the pretty redhead with perfect posture in front of him. "I'm so gonna enjoy watching you lose."

" _Finally_ some takers, thanks guys for being totally _not_ boring." Tony hopped down off the table, looking from Bucky to Natasha. His eyes finally settled on Bucky. "Seriously man? Have you ever _seen_ her drink? Do you have a death wish?"

"That's what I said!" Darcy pointed out as she took a seat beside Natasha.

Steve let himself collapse down beside Bucky on the couch. "I'm not gonna regret watching this, am I?"

"Absolutely not. I think our blood is 10% vodka anyway."

"Wouldn't that be a _disadvantage_?"

Bucky laughed, turning to look at Steve with a wicked gleam in his eye. "We'll see."

With 20 glasses each lined up in front of them, a different waiter came by and filled each one carefully to the top.

"Only 20?" Nat asked, frowning up at Tony. "Dude, come on."

"Tasha, honey, as much as I would _love_ to watch you or, more likely, _Barnes,_ pass out on my floor-"

"Alright, alright, point made." She turned to Bucky, grinning. She leaned forwards on her elbows. "So, Memory Lane. Same rules?"

"Of course."

"Nothing's out of bounds."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Flip a coin?"

"Nah. First one together, then ladies first."

"Get ready to owe me twenty bucks." Natasha's toothy grin reminded Steve of a hungry shark.

"Oh, bring it on."

Steve was already confused. Were they playing some kind of drinking game? He'd thought it was just going to be shots.

Bucky and Natasha each picked up the first glass in their respective lines.

Bucky glanced sideways at Steve, shooting him a wink, before clinking his glass against Natasha's. "На здоровье."

"На здоровье," Natasha repeated with a coy grin, and then they both tossed back their first shot.

The game took off instantly.

"When you were 17 you hit a bird with your car and cried," Natasha shot at him.

Bucky laughed, throwing back another shot and slamming the glass face-down on the table. "Good start; you wet the bed until you were nine."

"I hate you." She took a shot. "You call yourself Bucky because James reminds you of your grandfather."

Bucky shot. "Uhh, you moved to the States when you were twelve."

Natasha smirked. "Bad luck, soldier; thirteen."

Bucky swore, tossing back another shot of his own and then reaching over and taking one of Natasha's.

"You failed high school algebra twice."

"This is cruel," Bucky coughed out as he took yet _another_ shot.

Steve was laughing already; why had he not wanted to see this?

Bucky's turn. "You had your first kiss when you were seventeen."

Natasha took a shot. "You once slept with nine people in a night."

"Cheating, we talked about that five minutes ago," Bucky slurred as he reached for another glass anyway and swallowed it down. "You were obsessed with horses when you were in primary school."

Natasha shot. 

"Maybe you guys should slow down," Steve interrupted, but Bucky put a hand over his mouth.

"Sh'tup, Steve."

"Until you were 15 you wanted to be a politician."

Bucky frowned. "How'd you know that?"

"You tol' me once. What put you off?"

"Politics." Bucky tossed one back.

Soon they had only four more glasses each left in front of them on the table. They had attracted a small crowd of people by this point, watching in both amusement and confusion as one by one random facts about the other person's past were uncovered.

Bucky was holding onto the table like he was going to fall off the face of the earth, and Natasha's eyes were beginning to glaze over. 

"Learned to swim at 14," the redhead just about managed, and Bucky swore as he forced himself to throw back another shot. 

"Uhh, you... _Fuck_ ," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.

Natasha was giggling uncontrollably.

"Can't feel my _face_ ; I hate you so much... Uh, you fucked my brother."

"Amazing," Stark was laughing, applauding on his own on the arm chair.

"Didn't think you knew 'bout that," Natasha slurred through giggles as she tossed one back.

"He tol' me last Christmas," Bucky giggled back. "Said you're surprisingly flexible."

It was like watching a train wreck about to happen. Steve was positive that one of them was going to pass out and die.

"My go. You had a crush on me when we met."

"Bullshit," Bucky snorted, "your shot."

"'M offended, James!" She took a shot of hers, then one of his.

Now there were only two full glasses left for each of them.

Bucky was swaying slightly in his seat, blinking rapidly to try and clear his eyes, and Steve felt a bit like a worried mother as he eyed him anxiously to make sure he was okay.

Tony hadn't really stopped laughing since the game began. "This is fantastic, I don't think I've ever been happier to just sit back and _watch_ a drinking game..."

"Shuddup Stark, it's James's go," Natasha scolded, swatting at the millionaire's leg.

"Um..." Bucky's head dropped back as he groaned. "Uhh... I can't think of any..."

Natasha watched him with her evil grin.

Bucky only held out for a few more seconds. He sat up on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees and squinting at the table. Eventually he clapped his hands together, resting his forehead on his knuckles. "Christ, fuck it, I'm _done_."

" _Sorry_?!"

"I forfeit, I'm out, you win."

Natasha let out a whoop of victory, pulling Darcy beside her into a bone-crushing hug, which made  _Steve_ jump, never mind poor Darcy.

"Hey Pepper! _Pepper_! You'll _never_ guess what my new favourite drinking game is." Tony started shoving his way through the crowd as he tried to find his wife.

"$20, please," Natasha smirked over at Bucky, and Steve watched as he fumbled around in one of his pockets for his wallet.

He pulled out a 20 dollar bill and slapped it into her hand. "Jus' like old times, huh?"

"I always used t'beat you then too."

"I jus' liked playing," Bucky sighed as he let his body flop back into the cushions behind him.

Steve heard a jingling sound, then felt a hand on his arm. He turned to face Bucky, flicking up his eyebrows.

"You're gonna hurt in the morning."

"Mm… Can you take my keys?" Bucky waved them in front of his face.

"Yeah, pal." Steve snatched them out of his grip and pocketed them. "Safe and sound."

"D'you want some water? I could use some water right now." Using Steve's shoulder as a post Bucky pushed himself up onto his feet, swaying slightly but somehow managing to remain upright. "Water's _great_ , y'know?"

"Mayyybe I should get that for you," Steve offered as he stood up, grabbing Bucky's arm in an attempt to keep him on his feet. "Why don't you just sit back down-"

"No," Bucky frowned, staring up at him with eyes dimmed slightly by the enormous alcohol intake. "I can do it."

Steve stared back at him for a second, before sighing. "Whatever, fine. Bar's this way; let's go, tough guy."

They left Darcy and Natasha giggling on the other couch and made their way over to the bar; Steve keeping a firm grip on Bucky's shoulder and gently steering him through the crowd.

"Steve, 'm not a toddler, you can let go of my arm," he muttered, trying to tug out of Steve's grip.

"Not happening, sorry Buck. You drank a _lot_ of vodka."

Steve ordered two glasses of water once they'd reached hearing distance of the bartender; he decided to bring one back for Natasha too, just in case.

Once they'd made their way back to the couch and Steve had forced Bucky to sit back down, he leaned across the table and handed the other glass to Natasha, who was now sitting cross-legged in the middle of the thing and holding a pretty coherent conversation with Barton.

"Ugh," she said as she accepted it, looking up to eye Steve with a smirk. "Think I need looking after, Rogers?"

Steve glanced sideways at Clint who was sat next to her, who in turn rolled his eyes with a grin.

"I know, I got it covered."

Steve laughed. "Got it." He squeezed himself in beside Bucky on the opposite couch, who was now lounging across over half of it, humming to himself in time with the music.

"You okay, Bucky?"

"Yeah, 'm fine." He grinned somewhat disconnectedly, as if he was smiling at some kind of inside joke. His eyes slowly lifted to meet Steve's. "Y'know, compared to me you haven't had nearly enough to drink."

Steve chuckled. "Guess not."

"We should fix that."

"We need at least one designated driver, Buck."

"Then I nominate Barton; c'mon, Steve, it'll be fun!"

Steve opened his mouth to protest, frowning, but Bucky had already managed to snag a bottle of gin off one of the passing waiters' trays. 

"Two shots. Dare you. Humour me, Rogers."

"I don't really _want_ to-"

Bucky sat up and placed his hands on Steve's shoulders, staring him straight in the eyes. With their faces so close together Steve could feel the warmth of Bucky's breath on his cheek, and he swallowed, eyes darting away; anywhere.

"You won't regret it."

He said the words with such conviction and surprising coherence that Steve found himself actually considering it.

"Just two?" Steve asked, eyeing Bucky warily. 

His friend grinned widely, collapsing back onto his side of the couch and dangling the glass bottle in front of Steve's chest. "Just two."

"You don't have a glass."

Bucky rolled his eyes, flipping over onto his stomach and waiting. A few seconds later he was snatching an empty shot glass off a different waiter's tray, rolling over again and offering it to Steve. "Do now."

 _Damn it_. Steve sighed, taking the glass and bottle out of his hands. "Fine."

Bucky smiled victoriously, and it was so bright and so warm and so illogically _happy_ that Steve found himself smiling back.

"Then it's more fair, 'cause we'll be on the same level more or less."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Steve frowned as he poured out his first shot.

Bucky stretched, clicking his back as he twisted to the side and accidentally nudged Steve's leg with his shoe. "Like, it evens things out if we're both kinda drunk. It just does."

Steve snorted. "You're a bit more than kinda drunk, Buck."

Bucky laughed, brushing his hair back with both hands and kind of screwing it up in the process because of the gel he'd put in. Steve thought it looked adorable. "Yeah, maybe."

Steve sighed as he raised the shot glass to his lips. "Well, cheers." 

"На здоровье," Bucky replied as Steve tossed back the first shot of gin. 

It burned his throat like fire; god, he _knew_ there was a reason he didn't normally drink like this- he hated it. But as soon as _Bucky_ asked him to… Well, one night couldn't hurt, could it?

"What does that mean?" Steve coughed out as he replaced the glass on the table and began to fill it up a second time.

Bucky shrugged limply. "'To your health'. 'S just like a toast."

"Oh, ok."

"Are y' feeling it yet?" When Steve looked over at him Bucky's grin was all teeth, eyes locked firmly on Steve's, and his head was tilted slightly to the side. He fiddled with a loose thread on the left pocket of his pants.

Steve _was,_ a bit. His fingers had already started to feel heavier and distant, and the burn in his throat was replaced by a warm and pleasant buzzing feeling in his chest.

"No," he lied, because after seeing his friend drink almost 20 shots of vodka it seemed a bit weak to admit defeat after one of gin. 

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head like he knew Steve was lying. "Ok then; round 2."

Steve gave him a resigned look before downing what was in the glass, grimacing as he swallowed and the liquid seared his oesophagus on the way down. "Happy now?" He rasped out afterwards, clearing his throat. "Ugh, disgusting."

He was really starting to feel it now. He blinked slowly as he looked up at Bucky's smiling face.

"Yeah, I'm happy." 

"Why did I have to do that?"

Bucky grinned widely, stretching out across the couch and resting his legs across Steve's lap. "'Cause it's more fun, obviously." 

Steve managed to laugh, trying to act as if the lack of space now between them wasn't adversely affecting his breathing. "Really? Because we're just sitting here; I could've done this _sober_."

Bucky shrugged. "Okay then; dance with me."

"What?"

"Dance. With. Me. You wouldn't do _that_ sober."

Steve stared at him for a long second, unable to reply. Dance? With _Bucky_? To what he was pretty sure was that new Nicki Minaj song blasting from Tony's huge speakers? The thought of it was actually making him sweat with anxiety.

Bucky was staring solemnly at him.

Steve opened his mouth to reply, before closing it again. He didn't know what to say.

He could've sworn he noticed a twinge of sadness in Bucky's eyes as he looked away. That is, until Bucky broke. He ducked his head down as he let out a loud snort of laughter, trying to hide his grin. "I was kidding, pal. I'm not quite _that_ drunk."

Steve allowed himself to smile as his brain was flooded with relief. "Well thank god for that. I don't really... Dance. Often. Well, ever."

Steve looked over at Bucky just in time to see a soft smile spread across his face, his eyes lighting up. "Don't worry, we'll get there."

Steve's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Bucky either didn't hear him or didn't want to. His eyes were closed as he leaned back into the cushion supporting his back, fingers pulling absently at his hair. It was in a stupid shape now, Steve noticed, because of the gel, but he thought it suited him in a weird kind of way.

"Why are you staring at me?" Bucky was grinning as he tilted his head, watching Steve with curious eyes, and shit, Steve hadn't even noticed he'd opened them.

_Ok, Rogers, keep it cool..._

"Just..." Steve made a little hand gesture. "Your hair's gone a bit..." He trailed off.

Bucky absently patted the top of his head in an attempt to flatten it. "Mm?"

"No, that's... That's worse."

"Oh."

Steve hesitated for a moment before sighing. "Here..." He leaned over and ran his fingers through Bucky's hair a few times, biting his lip, trying to get it back to the way it looked before. "Ok, that's a _bit_ better."

"Thanks," was all Bucky said, and it wasn't until Steve looked down at his face that he noticed the flush on the other man's cheeks.

Steve quickly pulled back, clearing his throat.

There was a silence, interrupted only by the sound of Tony's terrible party music.

Then someone spoke.

"You boys okay?" Natasha. Steve had forgotten that she and Clint were even there.

Steve glanced over at her, putting on a grin. "Yeah, Tasha. How're you feeling?"

"Warm," she answered with a happy look, and Steve noticed Clint's amused smile before he could hide it.

"I'm boiling," Bucky was suddenly complaining, jiggling his legs around on Steve's lap to get his attention. "It's really hot in here."

"Me too," Steve agreed, because it was true. It was really, exceptionally hot. "It's all the people, I think."

"Let's go outside."

"Right now?"

"Yeah. I think there's a balcony somewhere." Bucky gestured vaguely with his arm, squinting his eyes and peering around in the darkness, probably trying to find it.

Steve smiled. "Sure. Let's go."

 

*

 

Bucky grinned happily as Steve agreed, swinging his legs off the other man's lap and getting to his feet.

He didn't feel as drunk as he was acting, mostly because due to his borderline alcoholism in his early twenties he'd built up a tolerance. Nontheless, he definitely felt it more when he was standing up.

Bucky decided that letting Steve think he was more drunk than he was would work in his favor. This way if he had a chance he could take it, and if it went wrong he could blame it on the alcohol. Besides, if Natasha, Pepper and Sam were as intent on setting Steve up with Peggy Carter as Bucky assumed they were, this might be Bucky's _only_ chance.

Bucky had actually been introduced to Peggy earlier that evening. He had been surprised- _very_ surprised- to discover that she was really attractive, really nice, witty, and completely uninterested in him. And British. She was perfect for Steve. He didn't stand a chance.

So, where Steve was concerned, Bucky figured it was now or never.

"That way," he decided after a few seconds, frowning at a spot off to the left that seemed to be a door. "Let's go."

Steve got to his feet, raising his eyebrows. "Are you good to stand? You're swaying a bit."

"'M fine, c'mon." He grabbed Steve's forearm, pulling him in the direction he assumed the balcony was.

"Be sensible, James," Natasha warned, and Bucky glanced around at her over his shoulder. She was giving him a pointed look.

Bucky pretended he didn't see.

"I'll watch him," Steve promised her, and as Bucky tried to tug him away Steve twisted his arm out of his grip and locked his fingers around Bucky's instead.

Bucky's breath hitched in his throat. For a second, everything went still.

_Holy crap._

If Natasha noticed the sudden hand-holding, she didn't say anything. Then the hand now clasped in his gave a gentle squeeze and Bucky instantly pulled himself together.

He led Steve towards what he could now see was definitely the large glass set of double doors leading out onto the balcony, carving a path through the crowd.

He was glad Steve couldn't see his smile.

When they reached the doors Bucky shouldered it open, relieved to find out it _was_ a push door, and strode out into the cool October air. It was dark already but he knew it wasn't late; no later than 9, at worst. 

It wasn't until Steve had pulled his hand away that Bucky realized how _normal_ it had felt. How natural.

"That's better," his friend had sighed contentedly, closing the door to the party and muffling the sound of the music.

"Mm," Bucky hummed in agreement, fishing in his pocket for a cigarette. "D'you mind if I-"

"Not at all, Buck."

Bucky paused as Steve stepped around him, going to stand by the railing that overlooked Tony's huge backyard. He wanted to stand beside him. But if he was smoking...

"You know what; I don't need it." He shoved the pack back into his pants pocket and went to stand next to Steve, leaning with his back against the railing and folding his arms, watching Steve's face.

"You're holding your alcohol well, considering how much you drank."

Bucky grinned. "Maybe 'm just a good actor."

"Yeah, maybe one day I'll fall for that."

He snorted. "You don't think I'm drunk?"

"Oh, you're drunk. Just not as drunk as you're pretending to be." Steve shot him a sideways smirk. "I can tell the difference."

Bucky laughed before giving him a mock-offended expression. "First of all, how dare you. You're a bit tipsy yourself."

"Just a bit," Steve was grinning. "I didn't have as much as you."

"Yeah, I had a lot."

"I know, I was there."

They stared at each other for a minute before bursting into giggles.

"You're totally pretending."

Bucky laughed. "Fine, yeah, you got me. I'm putting it on a li'l bit."

Steve was grinning back at him. "Why?"

Bucky shook his head, grinning at the floor. He didn't say anything for a few seconds, but he knew without looking up that Steve was still watching him. "Will you _please_ just dance with me?"

"I thought you were just kidding about that," Steve teased.

Bucky glanced up at him and grinned. "Yeah, well. How about it?"

"Is that why you were pretending?"

When Bucky didn't reply, Steve gave him a knowing smirk. "Bucky?"

Bucky snorted. _Yes_. "You wish. Now come on, how about that dance?"

"I don't know how to dance."

"Then I'll teach you." Bucky gave him an encouraging grin. "Let me."

"But the music's wrong-"

Bucky laughed, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the center of the balcony. "Doesn't matter. Put you hands on my waist."

Steve was smiling and shaking his head, trying to twist out of Bucky's grip. "Dude, no." He spun around, back facing Bucky and starting to walk away.

Bucky snorted with laughter, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist from behind. "Just one dance, come on! What're you afraid of?"

He felt Steve still in his arms, and with his chest pressed against the other man's back he was sure that Steve could feel the shallowness of Bucky's breathing.

"It's not my fault if I step on your foot," Steve eventually sighed, and Bucky found himself beaming. He let go of Steve, who turned around with a resigned grin and a slight blush.

"Yes it is. Now put your hands on my waist."

Steve complied somewhat reluctantly, gently sliding his hands around Bucky's waist and letting them rest awkwardly on his hips.

Bucky swallowed, ignoring his telltale heartbeat and grinning up at Steve. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" 

"You're a jerk."

Bucky winked at him, resting his forearms on Steve's shoulders and linking his hands around his neck. "Punk."

"Why are your arms around my neck right now?"

"Because I'm being generous and letting you be the guy."

Steve snorted. "How considerate." 

Bucky grinned, shaking his head in amusement. "Just follow my lead."

"I can't believe we're about to slowdance to Calvin Harris."

"Go with it."

Steve chuckled, dropping his head slightly and looking at the floor. "That's what I'm doing."

Bucky smiled, and when the next song started- Wild One or something- they started to dance.

They danced like that for almost five minutes in total silence, barely moving their feet, just swaying slightly in the darkness. The music inside didn't slow up, and it definitely didn't fit their dancing, but Bucky hardly noticed; the only things that mattered were Steve's hands on his waist, and his breath on the side of his neck.

"See," he murmured with a smile after a while, looking up at Steve. "This ain't so bad, is it?"

Bucky knew Steve was smiling."No," he agreed. "It's not so bad. They lapsed into silence again for a few more minutes.

Bucky moved without thinking. His fingers knotted into the soft hair at the nape of Steve's neck. For some reason it just felt _normal,_ and not kind of weird like it probably was.

Steve's eyes flew up to meet Bucky's, startled.

Bucky suddenly stilled, fingers freezing in his hair, as if he'd only just registered what he was doing. "I, uh..."

"It's fine," Steve said quickly, fingers tightening on Bucky's waist. "It's fine."

"It is?"

"Definitely fine."

Bucky cleared his throat. "Right."

More silence. Then:

"Hey Buck?"

"Yeah?" 

Your pocket's vibrating."

Shit; his phone.

"Oh, right, um..." Bucky pulled away from Steve and dug for his phone in his pockets pulling it out and groaning loudly when he saw the caller ID. "Oh my _god_ , it's like they do this on _purpose_..." He flipped it open and pressed it to his ear, scowling. "Dad, I'm a little _busy_ right now, can you call back-"

"Jamie? It's... It's me. It's Xander."

The sound of his older brother's weak, raspy voice caught him off guard. His eyes widened in surprise, and he was sure he looked like a goldfish as his mouth dropped open, stunned.

"How drunk _am_ I?"

"This ain't a dream, kiddo."

"You're not supposed to be using phones," he said automatically, and then kicked himself. "Uh, how come you've got Dad's?"

"I stole it when he wasn't looking." There was a twinge of guilt in Xander's creaky voice. "Look, Jamie, I know why you won't come-"

Bucky opened his mouth to protest but his brother kept going.

"-to see me but it would mean a lot to me if you did. I need a brother right now."

"You've got four," Bucky teased weakly.

The man on the other end let out a breathless, tired laugh. "A friend, then."

Bucky swallowed. "I'll come see you when you're getting better. That was our deal."

"Kid, I ain't getting better. I won't ever get better. That's the thing about terminal cancer. You need to... You gotta accept it, brother."

"No," Bucky croaked. "We promised. We said I'd come visit when-"

"Forget the stupid promise, Jamie, I'm _dying_. That's it."

"Xander-"

"I'd like to at least _see_ you before I drop dead, okay?"

"But the tests, your last results, they said-"

"Yeah, they did, and I got new ones in yesterday. I've got a new tumor in my brain. It's too late to operate. In two months I'm a goner."

Bucky's throat went dry.

 _No, that's not true. It can't be true_.

"Two months?"

"Two months."

_He's gonna die._

"They said that?"

His brother sighed at the other end of the line. "They did."

 _I don't believe it_.

"Jesus... Xander, I-"

"It's fine, Jamie, really. I knew."

Bucky rubbed at his temples. "Did you tell Ma and Dad?"

"Not yet. I don't want them to worry."

_My big brother._

"I think they'd probably want to know."

"I want you to be here when I tell them. I don't want them to dwell on it and feel like shit. They miss you; it'll give them something else to focus on."

Bucky was silent for a few seconds.

"...James? You there?"

_He's... He'll..._

Bucky sighed. "Yeah, I'm here. Uhh, when were you planning to tell them?"

"That's the reason I called; they're on their way."

Bucky chewed on his lip. "Bro, it's almost 10, I'm kinda drunk-"

He heard his brother sigh, and the poorly disguised disappointment in his voice when he next spoke almost shattered Bucky's heart. "Yeah. Of course. Sorry. Just... Come see me soon, okay? Bye, kiddo-"

"Wait," Bucky interrupted, wincing. "I'll come. Okay? I'll be there. Just hold out until I arrive; I'll take them home after, too. They'll be fine."

"Thank you." Bucky could almost feel his brother's relief seeping through the phone.

"It's..." Bucky sighed, "It's fine. I'll see you soon."

"Love you."

"You too." He snapped the phone shut, his left fingertips pressed to his temple. Slowly he turned around to face Steve, who was watching him with deep concern.

Xander was going to die. He was thirty six years old, and he was going to die.

"What's wrong, did something happen?"

Two months.

"No, nothing, I just... Steve, I'm so sorry, I gotta go."

"Bucky, what happened?" His voice was both gentle and solemn, and the way he was staring at Bucky was making his heart melt, but he had to organize his priorities. His brother was dying. He had to go.

"Can I have my keys back, please?"

Steve frowned. "You're in no state to drive-"

"Rogers," Bucky interrupted, a lot sharper than he'd intended to, " _please_ give me my keys." Xander was dying. That was all that mattered. It was happening, _really_ happening-

Steve's mouth pressed into a hard line. "No; get a cab. You'll kill someone driving like this."

_Good, then maybe God won't take my brother._

Bucky let out a growl of frustration, reaching for Steve's pocket. "Give them-"

"No!" Steve swatted his hand away. "Bucky-"

 _Xander_.

"Give 'em!"

Bucky ducked under his arm and tried to snatch the keys out of his jacket.

Steve shoved at his arm, swiftly sidestepping the sloppy punch Bucky aimed at his gut and grabbing both of his wrists. 

Bucky tried to break loose but Steve was stronger, restraining his wrists, forcing him to stand still.

 _Dying_.

" _Steve_ , I need-" his voice broke; he coughed loudly, "I... I gotta..."

"I won't let you drive."

"You have to." Bucky's voice came out small and sad and definitely pathetic but he didn't care; he needed to help his brother. He let his arms drop limply to his sides, and slowly Steve let go of his wrists.

"Bucky, you'll cause an accident."

"I don't _care_ , Steve, I need my car!"

Steve sighed, biting his lip as he stared at Bucky, thinking. "Where do you need to go?"

"Why do _you_ care?" He injected the words with more venom than he meant to.

Steve looked taken aback; a flash of hurt crossed his face.

Bucky winced. "I'm sorry, that was... Sorry."

"It's fine." Steve cupped the back of his neck with one hand, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

Bucky watched, standing opposite him a little uncomfortably, very much aware of how close together they were. Eventually he spoke. "Steve, my brother's in the hospital with two months to live. _Please_ give me the fucking keys."

Steve's mouth dropped open a little bit. He stood there, staring at Bucky, a torn expression on his face. "I… I could drive you," he offered, but Bucky shook his head.

"I can't ask you to do that; please give me my keys?"

Steve hesitated, chewing on his lip, weighing up the options; Bucky could see it all over his face.

"Okay," he sighed eventually, reaching into his pocket and pulling out Bucky's keys. "But text me as _soon_ as you get there so I know you're still alive; and-"

" _Thank you_ ," Bucky half gasped, snatching his keys out of Steve's hand.

In the relief of the moment he forgot himself, putting one hand on the back of Steve's neck and tilting his own head up, pressing their lips together.

The kiss was soft, and sweet; more so than Bucky had expected. He _never_ kissed like this. This wasn't a lust-filled snog in the bathroom of a club, this was something more than that; but it was also something less.

After a second Steve relaxed under him, and Bucky felt someone's hands on his waist. It only lasted about three seconds before Bucky let go of Steve's neck and took a few steps back, surprised at himself.

Steve's eyes slowly opened, and he blinked a couple of times, staring at Bucky with a puzzled expression. Bucky didn't miss the flush that spread up his neck.

"Uhh, Bucky-"

"I'm sorry."

"No, uh-"

" _So_ sorry-"

" _Bucky_ -"

"I gotta go," he said hurriedly, stuffing his keys into his pocket. "I'll see you tomorrow, I guess."

_I totally just ruined this. And Nat's gonna kill me._

Steve sighed. "But _Buck_ -"

"And, uhh, don't tell Natalia. If you value my life, _please_ for the love of _god_ don't tell her."

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. "Bucky, shut up for a second, we need to talk about this-"

_Yeah, so you can tell me I got it wrong._

"Don't," Bucky interrupted him, locking his eyes on Steve's with a pleading look. "Please. Don't."

Steve stared back, and Bucky thought he saw a flash of hurt cross his face before it was gone. "Fine."

Bucky turned to leave, inwardly kicking himself, because _fuck._

He didn't see Steve rub absently at his face with one hand, the other planted firmly in his pocket, expression mirroring Bucky's own thoughts.

He didn't see Natasha pull Steve indoors after a few minutes of him standing alone on the balcony, telling him there was someone he 'had to meet'.

He didn't see Steve and Peggy talking for hours by the bar, laughing at each other's crappy jokes and funny stories.

What he _did_ see was an hour's drive to Maimonides Medical Center's terminal ward, a dying brother, and parents who cried for almost four hours straight.

But, within the week, he'd wish he hadn't. 

 


	4. Winter and his Temper

Steve knew Bucky was mad at him.

He knew Bucky was mad at him the second he saw the look on his face when Natasha had congratulated him on finally asking Peggy out for dinner.

Only thing was, Steve wasn't sure _why_ Bucky was mad at him.

He liked Bucky. He _really_ liked Bucky. And when he'd sort of accidentally kissed Steve at Stark's Halloween thing he'd almost exploded with sheer... Joy? Shock? He wasn't sure. But it was a good feeling.

But then Bucky had ditched and Steve had felt like a moron. Obviously Steve didn't blame him for the kiss and run; the guy's brother was dying, for fucks sake, he deserved some slack. No, Steve had been put out because there had been total radio silence for almost two entire weeks after that.

It hadn't been cold or rude, just... Well, obvious. Bucky had offered him tight-lipped smiles when they walked past each other, and muttered a 'hey' every morning when he entered the gym, but they hadn't talked since that night. They hadn't had a proper conversation. And it wasn't like Steve didn't _try_ , it was just that every time he did the guy clammed up immediately and searched for an escape route like a caged rabbit.

So Steve had figured that maybe he'd been wrong about Bucky's feelings for him. Maybe he'd misread the signals, or Bucky _had_ actually been a lot drunker than he'd acted that night. Either way, all the signs Barnes had been giving him seemed to point to him and Bucky being a dead end street.

So Pepper managed to coerce him into inviting Peggy- the attractive, witty, ballsy nurse whom he'd met at Tony's party a few weeks ago- out for dinner.

That had been three days ago.

That had been when he decided that he actually really liked Peggy and her take-no-shit attitude. 

That had been when he'd asked her out again.

And _that_ was when Bucky had started to act pissy.

"Bucky," he called out exasperatedly as he half-jogged to keep up with his colleague, since 'friend' didn't seem to be the right term for their current situation. "Buck, hold up."

"I'm busy, Steve," Bucky snapped back as he walked brusquely down the hallway towards his classroom, his polished shoes making a smart clicking sound on the floor with every step that Steve could even hear over the sounds of the children swarming past them.

Steve rolled his eyes, nearly walking straight into a short ginger kid with a backpack twice the size of any normal backpack. _Freshmen_. "Buck, you've been avoiding me for two weeks, I think it's time for us to have a fucking conversation."

"Do you?" Bucky had snarked sarcastically back, turning to stare coldly at Steve over his shoulder as he came to a halt in the middle of the corridor. A teenaged girl bumped against his shoulder.

"Sorry Mr Barnes," she apologized immediately, eyes widening at the guarded expression on his face.

He instantly smiled, shaking his head slightly. He looked as he always did when Steve wasn't around to innately piss him off; charming, gorgeous, unthreatening. "No, Nikki, it's my fault, sorry. Hallway ain't a great place to stop for a conversation."

The girl offered him a smile and went on her way, and Bucky's expression instantly turned to ice again. He started at Steve with such undisguised disdain in his expression that he stopped walking, hands hanging limply by his sides, staring in total confusion at the dark-haired man standing just a few feet front of him.

"We need to talk."

"We have nothing to talk about."

Steve tried to ignore the fact that he was being jostled about by teenagers trying to get to their next class. "Buck, just humour me, okay? We need to _talk_ , fucking hell, it'll take _five minutes_." He hadn't meant to get snappy, really, but it was too late now.

Bucky was watching him with cold, dead eyes, and Steve could see even at this distance as his jaw twitched with what Steve assumed was anger.

_Why is he so fucking mad?!_

"You get five minutes, Rogers," he answered finally in an icy tone, gesturing roughly for Steve to follow him as he disappeared into his classroom, and god, Steve would've never guessed that the charming, flirty man who kissed him on the balcony could have such a _temper_.

Steve did as he said, however, and as soon as he closed the door behind him he turned to find Bucky staring him down from about a foot away, arms folded, eyebrows raised in a sort of sarcastic interest. "Well?"

"Why the fuck are you so pissed off?!" Steve blurted out with a frown, raising his arms slightly for emphasis before letting them drop exasperatedly back down to his sides. "Seriously, man, what the hell is wrong with you?!"

"поиметь," Bucky muttered as he rolled his eyes, and Steve glared at him.

"Did you just swear at me in Russian?"

"Of _course_ not, Steve, that would be childish and unprofessional." His tone was _dripping_ with sarcasm.

"Well, I'm dealing with a stroppy teacher in a school full of teenagers so I wouldn't be surprised," Steve shot back.

Bucky just glared back, letting his silence answer Steve's retort.

"Tell me why you're mad."

"The fact that you even need to _ask_ that question is why I'm mad."

"Oh, great, a riddle," Steve sighed loudly, as Bucky interrupted him with a stream of angry Russian, which he promptly ignored. "Gee, Buck, I _love_ it when you get all cryptic. What's that even supposed to _mean_?"

"You're a smart guy, Steve, how about you figure it out," Bucky snapped as the bell went for fourth period, and at that moment his door was pushed open and Natasha strode in, reading something on her phone with a frown.

"James, I've got an email here from someone called Pierce? He says you won't return his calls-" She stopped upon seeing Steve and Bucky standing in the middle of the room, both with arms folded, glaring daggers at each other. Steve was surprised at just how fiery Bucky's blue eyes got when he was mad.

"Ahem," Natasha tried pointedly, resting one hand on her hip. "Am I interrupting something here, boys?"

"No," Bucky snapped, at the same time Steve said loudly, "Yeah."

Natasha raised her eyebrows, looking from one man to the other. "Great," she said sarcastically.

Steve's eyes were still fixed on Bucky's guarded ones. Neither of the men so much as blinked.

"James," Natasha said finally after a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence, "что случилось?" _What happened?_

 _"Great,"_ Steve groaned sarcastically as he ran a hand through his hair, "Break out the Russian."

"он встречается медсестру, Nat." _He's dating the nurse_. Bucky broke eye contact with Steve to look over at Natasha.

Steve gave up on trying to followed the conversation in Slavic and focused instead on their expressions, trying to read what little he could into their words.

"я сказал вам что он будет." _I told you he would_.

Steve saw a pained looked cross Bucky's face. "Я действительно как он..." _I really like him_...

"Тогда перестать быть член." _Then stop being a dick_.

Steve noticed Bucky's head drop slightly as Natasha glared at him, folding her own arms tightly over her chest. The three of them probably looked like a total joke right now.

"Скажите жаль," Natasha seemed to be ordering, and Steve watched as Bucky stared up at her in confusion.

"What?" He said, abashed, and this time thankfully in English.

"You heard me, James. _Apologize_. Это не его вина, что он любит ее." _It's not his fault that he likes her_.

"You don't _understand_ ," Bucky hissed, glancing sideways at Steve before lowering his voice even further, "Я поцеловала его в ту ночь." _I kissed him that night._

Natasha hung her head with a loud sigh, her hair falling in front of her eyes as she shook her head in exasperation. " _James_..."

Steve really wished he understood what they were saying.

"You can't be pissed off for that. You just can't. Just say you're fuckin' sorry."

"I'd rather stick a cactus up my ass," Bucky snapped back at her in retort, and that was just about all the incentive Steve needed.

"You know what," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I give up. I'm fucking done. I tried, but this is impossible. I still have _no_ idea why you're mad, and all I've managed to get out of this situation is that I'm embarrassingly bad at reading people. Fucking Jesus, just _forget_ it." He turned away from Bucky, feeling his heart pounding in his throat. "I'll see you tomorrow night, Natasha. You still need me to give you a lift?"

"I'd really appreciate it, Steve, thanks."

"What's tomorrow night?" Bucky asked sharply, and Steve was less than thrilled to know that his little rant hadn't affected the other man in the slightest.

"Darcy's birthday party, remember? Aren't you coming?"

Bucky's sharp blue eyes connected just for a second with Steve's. There was a tense silence. Steve raised his eyebrows at Natasha, who seemed to be refusing to make eye contact with him. 

"No. I'm busy. Better things to do, as they say."

That was the final straw. Steve let out a loud groan of exasperation, shaking his head as he strode out the door.

He slammed it shut behind him.

 

*

 

Bucky had spent his only free afternoon all week being lectured by Natasha, and he wasn't happy about it. After she'd walked in on his and Steve's argument, and after he'd walked _out_ , she had demanded to know the whole story.

Sparing no details.

So Bucky had explained.

He told her about their dance on the balcony, and the phone call from his brother, and the fight about the keys. He told her about the kiss. He also told her about how stupid he'd felt afterwards, and their conversation, and how he'd been so preoccupied on the drive to the hospital that he'd nearly crashed the car.

"I just thought maybe he'd... Maybe..." He'd trailed off with a groan, rubbing his face in his hands as he leaned one hip against his desk. "It was dumb. I was dumb. He wouldn't. He didn't even bring it up the next time we saw each other."

Natasha had just stared at him for a second, expression completely neutral, and then slapped him hard across the face.

" _Ow_! Natalia!" 

"You're an idiot."

"What the fuck?!" Bucky had demanded as he cradled his stinging cheek.

"He was trying to," she snapped. "He tried to talk to you about it that night and you shut him down. You're the idiot, it's your fault this happened, the end. Bucky, don't blame this on him."

"He's already dating the fucking nurse," Bucky muttered bitterly. "If he even cared a tiny bit at the time if would take more than two weeks to-"

Natasha slapped him again.

" _поиметь_! Nat!"

"Don't do this to yourself, James. So what, he's dating. There's nothing you can do; he'll make his own choices. You fucked up, and now you have to respect that. Let it go."

"I don't want to," Bucky said sullenly. "Nat, I _really_ like him."

"So you're gonna ruin his life, is that it? You gonna pull a Gatsby on him? James, just let him be happy." Natasha cupped his jaw, lifting his face up to lock her eyes on his. " _Bucky_. You gotta let him be happy."

"You only call me that when you're serious," he joked weakly, like he always did, except he knew she was right.

Damn it, she was _always_ right.

"Maybe you should come to Darcy's birthday thing tomorrow night."

Bucky sighed, rubbing his face. "I can't, Nat. I don't want to anyway, but I can't."

"Why not? She _loves_ you, and she'd be so glad if you made it-"

"Nat, I've got _plans_."

"With _who_?! Not _me_ , and you don't have any other friends."

Bucky frowned. "Why've you assumed that?"

"Uhh, because it's true," Natasha supplied, flicking a pencil at him.

Bucky blocked it with his forearm, watching as it clattered onto the floor. "I asked the boys to come over."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "The boys?"

"Yeah, Nat, the boys. You know; Gabriel, Monty, Jim-"

"Ohhh," Natasha said loudly. " _Them_. They're all in New York?" She seemed surprised.

Bucky shrugged. "Not all of them. Dugan's on a mission or something and Jacques is on vacation in France. But the other three, yeah, they're here."

Natasha smiled. "When was the last time all of you guys got together?"

"Oh, ages ago. Almost two years, I reckon. I saw Gabe in February, but the others I haven't seen in months."

"So you won't come to Darcy's?"

Bucky gave her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Nat. Maybe next time."

"At least promise me you'll apologise to Steve. He doesn't deserve all the shit you put on him."

Bucky sighed. "I'll consider it."

And that was how Bucky ended up sitting on the steps leading up to the front door of the school on a Friday night, watching as the sun went down, and waiting for Steve to walk by as he left the building so he could apologize for his asshole behavior the day before.

He had only been sitting on the cold, hard concrete for a matter of minutes before Steve appeared, clutching a huge gym bag to his chest and juggling two folders in his free hand.

"Steve," Bucky said quickly as he got to his feet, chewing on his lip. "I, uh-"

"Don't wanna hear it," Steve quipped as he walked straight past him, and okay, Bucky might've deserved that one.

"Steve, hang on," Bucky said as he jogged to catch up with him. "I wanted to apologize. I was a dick."

"Go away Bucky." Steve fumbled with his car keys. The lights on his Corsa flashed once to indicate it was unlocked.

"No," Bucky said with a frown, watching as Steve dumped his bags in the back of his car. "I want to talk to you." 

"Oh, _now_ you want to talk to me? Fuck off."

"Steve, come on," Bucky half pleaded as Steve straightened up, not looking at him. "I was a dick, I'm sorry-"

"Bye, Bucky," Steve sighed pointedly as he pulled open the drivers side door and slid inside.

Bucky could hear the radio being turned on behind the tinted windows.

Bucky knocked on the window, frowning. "Steve. Steve!"

"Fuck off!"

"Open the window!"

" _No_!"

"Why aren't you driving off?"

"Because I'm takng Tasha to Darcy's."

"So you're just sitting in the car to avoid me?"

Bucky heard Steve's sarcastic laugh through the closed window. "I wish it was that easy."

Bucky stood there for a few seconds before sighing and walking around to the other side of the car. He pulled out the passenger side door open and collapsed down into Steve's car, dumping his bag on the floor and ignoring Steve's loud protests. 

" _Bucky_!" Steve thundered, "Get out of my car!"

"No, I want to talk to you."

"Why should I even bother listening to you after that fucking stunt you pulled yesterday?"

Bucky flushed, grimacing. "I know, I was a dick, but Steve, just hear me out, okay?"

"Why should I?!"

"Because you're a better man than me!" Bucky practically yelled, slamming his hand down on the dashboard in frustration. He thought he saw Steve jump out of the corner of his eye. "You're a better person than I am. You're honest, and kind, and you're _definitely_ not the kind of person that I am, so when I just ask you to hear me out-"

Steve sighed. "Get the hell out of my car."

"Steve, I'm _sorry_ -"

" _Are_ you?"

" _Yes_! I was a tit, okay, I'm sorry! I just didn't know how to handle everything and I panicked and made it about you but it wasn't you, it was me. And I ruined it. And I'm sorry."

"It's fine, I don't _care._ "

"Yes you do!" Bucky snapped, and Steve fell silent, glaring at him. "You _do_ care."

"What on earth gave you that impression?" Steve muttered half sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Because you kissed me back."

"Bucky-"

"No, you did. And you wanted to talk it out and I ran. And I'm sorry."

Steve sighed, rubbing his temple. "You had other problems to deal with."

"Yeah," Bucky conceded, "but I should've at least called or something."

"Yeah, you should've."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Ignoring me for two weeks wasn't such a great plan either, you know."

"Yeah," Bucky sighed. "You're right, I know. I really fucked up, Steve. I'm really, really, _really_ sorry."

"I know you are." Steve glanced up at him, chewing on his lip. Bucky noticed he'd drawn blood with his teeth.

"You, um, you're bleeding."

"What? Where?"

Bucky gestured towards his mouth. "Your lip..."

"Oh, shit." Steve sucked his bottom lip into his mouth with a frown, turning away from Bucky and stretching out in his seat.

Bucky couldn't stop staring at his mouth. God, this _sucked_. He wondered if Steve would be angry if he kissed him again.

"I was mad because of Peggy," Bucky said suddenly, leaning forwards to switch off the radio. "That was why I was a dick to you yesterday. I'm mad because of her. I'm sure she's super lovely, and I'm happy for you and all that shit, but I gotta say, Steve, I don't like it."

"Why?" Steve asked, turning to watch Bucky with an eyebrow raised.

"You shit, you _know_ why."

Steve smirked. "Yeah, but I want to hear you say it."

Bucky sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "Mmmhhh..."

"Buck," Steve grinned, leaning towards him.

Bucky groaned. "Because I _like_ you, okay?" He frowned. "And I was here first. Happy now?"

"Mhm," Steve hummed, grinning smugly at him. "Yep."

 _I want to ask him out. I've never asked anyone out before. What if he says no? What if he says_ yes _?_

_Natasha will totally kill me._

_I'm gonna do it._

Bucky swallowed, working up the nerve to say something. Finally, he managed to speak. "So?"

Steve raised his eyebrows. "So?"

Bucky shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unsure of what to say. He felt his cheeks go red. "How about it then?"

"How about it then," Steve parrotted, blinking in confusion at Bucky.

"Yeah." Bucky cleared his throat, not looking at his friend. His heart was thumping so loudly in his chest that he was sure Steve would hear it. "Do you maybe wanna, I dunno, grab dinner sometime, or-"

"Bucky," Steve interrupted with a wince, and Bucky's heart sank.

 _Here it comes_. "What?"

"What about Natasha?"

Bucky blinked. "What about her?"

Steve chewed on his lip. "Won't she be mad?"

_Yeah, she'll totally be mad. She said to leave you alone._

Bucky found himself shrugging. "She'd get over it."

"I..." Steve avoided his eyes, and Bucky saw his own blush mirrored on Steve's face. "I _want_ to say yes, Buck, I do, but I... I just, I can't."

Bucky swallowed. "Why not?" He asked quietly, trying to make his voice sound less small and less fucking pathetic.

"Well, a _little_ because of Natasha, but mostly because, like you said, of Peggy. I _like_ her, Buck, and we've got another date tomorrow night, and I committed already-"

"Oh," Bucky managed, scratching the back of his head, "right. Of course."

Peggy. He was choosing Peggy.

Of course he was choosing her. That was what made sense.

He just didn't know why it hurt so much.

"I'm sorry, Bucky-"

"No," Bucky interrupted, trying to wave his words away with a casual flick of his wrist. "No, it's fine. Honestly."

"If things were different-"

"Steve," Bucky spoke over him, trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible, which wasn't exactly easy. "Really. It's okay."

Steve gave him a sad smile, and Bucky felt a bit sick to his stomach. Now Steve was pitying him. Just what he needed.

"How's your brother?" Steve asked after a moment, folding his arms loosely over his chest and sinking deeper into his chair.

"Xander?"

"Yeah."

Bucky sighed, absently twisting the dial on the air conditioning. "He's… Okay."

Steve gave him a surprised look. "Really?"

"Well, he's still gonna…" Bucky cleared his throat. "He's still sick. But he's handling the whole thing better than the rest of my family, and that has to count for something."

Steve was quiet for a moment, and Bucky could feel his warm brown eyes on into the side of his face. Bucky refused to look up.

But then Steve spoke again.

"Can I… Do you mind if I ask- if it's not too personal- what's… What's wrong with him?"

Bucky shrugged his shoulders loosely, fighting to keep his emotions from showing on his face. "It's kind of a long story, actually-"

"Yeah, of course," Steve said quickly, nodding and looking away. "Like I said, you don't have to tell me."

"No," Bucky said after a moment, looking up at Steve with a frown. "I want to. Xander, he… Well, he was sick a lot as a teenager. He used to get fevers all the time, and some days he'd just be so exhausted that he wouldn't be able to get out of bed." Bucky sighed. "When, uhh, when he was sixteen- I was nine at the time- he was diagnosed with Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia- cancer of the white blood-"

"Yeah," Steve nodded, "I know what it is."

Bucky nodded too, glancing up to look at him. He kept his expression carefully blank. "Yeah. So, he's been in and out of hospital for the last, whatever, twenty years, but the last two have been complete hell for him. The doctors said it was a miracle he's made it this long." He shrugged, giving Steve a tight-lipped smile.

"It just sucks that it's finally happening, you know? We've prepared for this, we all did, but I never really thought…" He trailed off with a deep sigh, leaning his head back against the headrest. "Well, you get it."

"I'm sorry Bucky." The words sounded so sincere, so real, that Bucky found himself smiling slightly.

"Yeah," he agreed. "So am I."

"I lost my mom to cancer a few years back," Steve said after a few seconds of silence, and Bucky's eyes flicked up to him, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Lungs," he clarified when he saw Bucky's expression. He smiled almost teasingly. "I mentioned she was a smoker."

Bucky actually chuckled. "Yeah, you did."

"Our house used to stink." There was definite humour in Steve's voice now, and Bucky found himself relieved to be able to turn the conversation around a bit.

"You'd love my bedroom, then," he half-joked, and Steve just snorted.

"I'm sure."

"The bed is super comfortable."

Steve was laughing, and Bucky grinned widely despite himself.

"I'll have to test it some time," Steve teased back, and Bucky felt something flutter inside his chest.

"So is this what we are now?" He joked, crossing his arms as he grinned up at Steve. "We're the guys in that awkward 'we almost dated' stage?"

Steve shrugged, grinning as he shook his head at the wheel. "A bromance to rival all others."

Bucky laughed, clapping a hand down on his shoulder. "Maybe on your part, Steve. I'm definitely bitter about being friendzoned right now."

Steve snorted. "You and I both know the friendzone is a load of bullshit."

They had been so caught up in their conversation that neither of them noticed Natasha Romanoff striding towards Steve's car, folders and papers in hand, until Bucky's door was tugged open.

"Steve, sorry to keep you waiting- Oh, hey James." She seemed surprised.

"Nat," he grinned up at her. "Hi; sorry, I'm in your seat…"

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "No, it's fine- Are you coming to Darcy's now after all?" She made to get in the back.

"No," Bucky said after a second's hesitation. "Uhh, no. I really _do_ have plans tonight. Tell her happy birthday from me, though- No, Nat, you can sit in the front, I'm getting out." He turned to slide out of the car, but he felt someone's fingers close over his wrist.

Bucky froze, eyes darting back to the man in the driver's seat.

Steve offered him a sheepish grin as he let go of his wrist. "See you Monday?" He questioned in an almost hopeful voice.

Bucky's heart swelled at his expression, and he found himself beaming back. "Yeah, pal. See you Monday."

 

*

 

"I don't get it," Jim Morita announced loudly over the sound of Monty and Gabriel wrestling each other to the floor over the last packet of potato chips. "You let him turn you down? _You_? _You_ took no for an answer? Jesus, are you the _real_ James Barnes?"

Bucky grinned at his friend from over the lip of his beer bottle as he raised it to his mouth. "Well, Nat was right, you know? Like, he deserves to be happy and all that shit. If that's not with me then whatever."

"That's super gay, Winter, even for you," the familiar voice smirked, and Bucky just laughed at his old nickname, flicking a crumb of pizza on the table at him.

"Fuck off."

"Seriously, brother, I mean it. When we were deployed you literally fucked like 80% men, and that was _still_ the gayest thing you've ever said to me."

"You're an asshole, Jim," Bucky smirked, and his friend's eyes twinkled with amusement, although no sign of it showed in his expression.

"Winter, kiddo, you're talking to the _king_ asshole. Have some respect, there's a good lad. Anyway, look, it's just a crush. You'll get over it soon enough. Just flirt with him like you used to in the good old days, you know? Mindless flirting. Do it with everyone, actually. Flirt with everyone, and if he gets jealous then you have your answer and try asking him out again."

Bucky grinned. "You know, you and Nat give polar opposite advice."

"Come on, Winter, who're you gonna believe? Soviet buddy or best wingman ever?"

"You ate the last fucking slice of pizza!" Gabe was accusing from Monty's chokehold, before elbowing him in the gut and managing to hook his leg around Falsworth's, pulling him back to the ground. "I should get the chips!"

"Over my dead body," Monty was laughing as he dragged Gabriel backwards by his shirt, forcing him onto his knees before he got him in a headlock. 

"I should just eat them," Jim deadpanned, calm as ever, and Bucky let out a snort of laughter.

"I'd let you."

"I'm doing it."

"I'll help."

So they watched as their friends fought over the chips, munching on them together, cheering every time one of them managed to get the other one in a position that could almost be considered check mate.

Things got worse before they got better. Within half an hour one of Bucky's kitchen chairs was broken, there were empty cans of beer littering the floor of his apartment, and he had been left with no food except half a jar of mayonnaise and a head of romaine lettuce. He guessed he could make do with that.

Three hours later, the situation had definitely calmed down.

The four men were lying sprawled across Bucky's couch watching the football through the grey cloud generated by their constant smoking, which Bucky eventually gave in to and just turned the fire alarm off. He didn't even bother opening a window. Monty didn't give two shits about football, but about but everyone else did, so he was overruled and they ended up watching it anyway.

"This game is so stupid," Monty was complaining. "Why have they padded their shoulders? We don't pad our shoulders for rugby. The English take it like the men we are."

"That's why you guys had the Plague."

"You shut the hell up, Winter, remember Swine Flu?"

"That was you," Gabriel snorted. "Kind of us, but definitely also you."

"You're all a bunch of hypocrites. You especially, angel boy."

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, you _know_ I hate that-"

"So," Bucky interrupted with a grin before the conversation could go any further. "I have a test."

"Oh yeah?" Falsworth smirked, raising an eyebrow as he sat up and looked over at Bucky. "What's the test for?"

"I dunno, just to make sure none of you have been cloned and replaced by doppelgängers or anything."

"Solid," Gabriel snorted.

"You're not going to ask us to strip or anything, are you?" Jim asked with a grimace, and Monty laughed, clapping a hand on his friend's back. 

"Jim, my friend, you only _wish_ that was the case."

"I _really_ don't."

Bucky laughed, crossing his legs in his skinny jeans and letting his leg knock against Gabriel's- they really were pressed for space, and Bucky decided he should try and save up for a new couch. That is, as soon as he can afford to pay back the three years worth of student debt he told his brother he'd pay in return for losing a bet.

Family really sucked sometimes.

"Okay, okay," Bucky managed through his laughter, holding up his hands and trying to get everyone to settle down. "Okay, here's my test. Are you ready?"

"Oh jesus, is it like a general knowledge thing? Like a pub quiz? Buck, I gotta say, I've never been good at those."

"No, it ain't that kinda test. It's like a reflex thing."

"Oh, good, then I'm in."

"Ready?"

His three friends grinned widely at him, staring with wide-eyed anticipation.

"Ready."

Bucky grinned, leaning back slightly, not wanting to get in the way if all went to plan. He picked up one of the ratty pillows he was leaning on, tossing it back and forth between his hands.

"On your left," he yelled as he chucked it off to the side, before quickly covering both of his ears with his hands.

There was a serious of loud bangs as each man pulled a handgun out of absolutely nowhere and fired almost simultaneously at the pillow, reducing it to shreds of fabric and feathers before it could hit the ground.

Bucky cheered, laughing, and his friends turned to grin at him through the smokey haze, feathers drifting lazily to the floor.

"Did we pass?" Monty was smirking. "I think we passed."

"To be honest, pal, I just wanted to piss off the guy next door to me with a super loud noise. He likes to fuck his girlfriend really loudly at 3am and it's starting to get to me a little."

"Reminds you of how lonely you are, right Winter?"

Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, Jimmy, spot on."

And then it all went downhill from there.

There was drunken folk dancing and serenading strangers out the window.

There was at least three more pizza deliveries, all from the same guy, who looked more and more confused every time the door was opened and he was greater by a group of ex-servicemen in pajamas in a room full of smoke.

Then there was the strip tease, courtesy of Bucky and Monty, which everyone seemed to find hilarious except for Jim, who sat at the table in the kitchen and filmed the whole thing on his phone.

Monty chickened out as soon as it got down to their underwear, so he had to pay for the next pizza.

They compared Howling Commandos tattoos, which were all roughly the same, except Jim's of course, as he only had the initials and not the crossed rifles.

"Mine's slightly smaller than yours," Bucky complained as he traced Gabriel's with his finger. "Why did Alexei do mine smaller?"

"Size isn't everything," Monty sniggered as he patted Bucky on the shoulder, and Bucky laughed, shoving him onto the couch.

"Yeah, you'd know, wouldn't you?"

By 3 in the morning, Monty had found a stray cat on the street outside when he'd gone down to get his jacket (which Jim had chucked out the window). It was a cute fat ginger cat that everyone had taken a liking to except Bucky, who was violently allergic to cats, and demanded that they let it out of his apartment effective immediately.

By 5am they'd had to open a window, because the sheer volume of smoke consuming Bucky's entire apartment was making it hard to breathe.

"How come you get a cool nickname," Gabriel slurred as Bucky stole the cigarette from out of his limp fingers and took a drag, leaning to exhale out the window. "You get Winter, and I get stuck with Gabe on a good day. Angel boy on a bad day. It fuckin' sucks."

"We should give you a nickname," Bucky agreed immediately, clapping his old friend on the back. "So, if I'm Winter, you can be, like, Spring."

"That's fucking dumb, Bucky."

"Yeah, it is a bit…"

At 6, they had challenged each other to hand-to-hand combat, and Bucky had to sit down on the couch for ten minutes because Jim had winded him so badly that he'd completely lost his breath and passed out for almost fifteen seconds.

It had been pretty fucking funny, though.

When the same poor pizza guy came back at 7:30 in the morning and was greeted by Bucky with a tie around his head and a cigarette burn on his chest, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, he didn't even seem surprised.

Soon after their fifth pizza the men collapsed back onto the couch and finally fell asleep, to the joy of the man next door, who had been screaming at them to shut up through the wall for at least three hours. None of them had even noticed.

So when Bucky was woken up at 2 in the afternoon by the sound of someone knocking at his door, he was less than pleased.

He groaned as he managed to get to his feet, squinting at the light streaming through the open window, and stepping over an unconscious Monty as he stumbled over to the door.

The knocking started up again, and Bucky sighed, rubbing at his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up, I'm coming!"

He tugged off the chain and jerked open the door. " _What?"_

Steve Rogers and a pretty woman with dark hair and violently red lipstick were standing in the hallway, staring at him with matching shocked expressions.

Bucky squinted at them with one eye closed, crinkling his nose in concentration. "Steve?"

"Hey Buck," Steve said slowly, eyes dragging up and down his body, and Bucky was suddenly aware of the state he was in. "You've met Peggy, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, we've met…" Bucky managed an almost-smile, rubbing at his temple with one hand. "Hey, Peggy."

"Bucky," she acknowledged with a slight nod, unable to take her eyes off of- oh, shit, he had a feather boa tied around his waist, didn't he.

Bucky quickly pulled it off and chucked it behind him, cheeks flushing crimson. "Uhh… Why are you outside my apartment?"

A ginger cat suddenly barrelled in between his legs and shot out of Bucky's apartment, racing down the stairs.

Peggy and Steve stood there in shock.

Bucky let out a long, hard sigh.

"Monty," he snapped, leaving the door wide open as he turned back inside and went over to kick awake his sleeping friend. "Man, what the fuck? I thought I told you to get rid of that fucking cat hours ago! How I'm gonna have allergies for _weeks_ ; _Jesus._ "

The unconscious man on his floor made a disgruntled and incomprehensible mumbling sound, blindly picking up an ejected ammo cartridge on the floor and chucking it haphazardly at Bucky's chest. "F'k off, Winter."

"You fuck off," Bucky muttered, absently feeling the burn on his chest from the night before, which was still stinging. He turned around again to face the door, to discover that Steve and Peggy were still hovering awkwardly in the doorway, taking in the train wreck that was Bucky's apartment.

"Uh. Come in," he tried uncertainly, brushing a hand through his hair. "Sorry about the…" He waved his arm about lamely. "Well, the mess."

"You left your bag in my car," Steve blurted finally, holding out Bucky's rucksack, and yeah, come to think of it, he _did_ leave that in Steve's car. In the footwell of the passenger seat.

"Oh," Bucky said, taking it out of Steve's grip. "Thanks for bringing it over."

"You smell like a bonfire."

"Gee, thanks."

"Who is it?" Came Jim's tired voice from behind Bucky.

"Some people I work with," Bucky called back, keeping his eyes trained on Steve's and trying to gauge his reaction to the current… Situation.

"Is Nat there?"

"No, uhh, did I mention Steve yesterday? It's Steve. And his… Girlfriend? Peggy."

Steve seemed to be struggling not to let his eyes wander away from Bucky's face.

"What? Didn't catch that last part."

Bucky sighed. " _Steve_ , Jimmy."

"Oh!" His friend suddenly sounded a lot more alert. Bucky heard shuffling from behind him as Jim stood up and he let out a deep sigh, dropping his head back and closing his eyes.

"Hi," Jim said loudly as he approached them from behind Bucky, tugging a shirt on over his vest top. "Jim Morita, one of Winter's buddies."

Steve flicked up an eyebrow, glancing at Bucky. "Winter?"

Bucky opened his mouth to explain, but Jim just kept talking.

"So you're Steve, huh? And… Well, you must be Peggy, I guess." Jim nodded, looking impressed. "Well. Wow."

"Okay, Jimmy, that's enough," Bucky said quickly, shoving Jim out of the way and exiting the apartment, closing the door behind him.

Then it was just the three of them standing out in the hallway; Steve in slacks and a clean dress shirt, Peggy in a beautiful red dress, and Bucky, wearing nothing but his grey boxer briefs.

"Sorry," he apologised finally. "I wasn't really expecting… Guests…"

Peggy snorted. "I can see that." 

Bucky almost frowned at that, but as soon as he looked up at her he could see the teasing shimmer in her eyes, and that made him like her a teensy bit more. The girl had balls.

That bode well for Bucky. He remembered Jim's advice to flirt with everyone.

Well, it couldn't hurt.

"Jimmy wasn't wrong, though, you look incredible," he told Peggy, eyes skating over her dress. "Seriously; I mean, I hardly know you, but damn."

"You're not too bad yourself, soldier," Peggy conceded in her smart English accent as her eyes wandered over his chest.

Bucky grinned. "Yeah, I have that effect on people."

Steve snorted, rolling his eyes, and if Bucky didn't know better he would've said that he detected a faint note of jealousy in his tone when he spoke.

"So you _weren't_ lying when you said you had plans."

Bucky smirked. "Uh, no. I wasn't lying. Wish I was, 'cause I'd probably be a bit less hungover that way, but hey. What can you do. How was Darcy's party?"

Steve shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. "It was pretty cool. Stark brought his own karaoke machine, which was less cool."

Bucky laughed. "Damn, wish I was there for that…"

His front door opened behind him, and Jim was standing in the doorway with Bucky's cellphone in his hand.

"Winter, you got a call from your brother."

"Which brother?"

"Sascha."

Bucky sighed, lifting the phone to his ear. "Sashie? It's a fucking Sunday, man-"

"Sorry Jamie, I'll be quick; listen, do you know anywhere in Brooklyn I can score a couple joints for-"

Bucky hung up the phone immediately and handed it back to Jim, rolling his eyes. "If he calls again don't even bother answering it. I knew sending him to college was a bad idea."

"We should probably get going," Steve interrupted, and when Bucky glanced up at him he noticed that Steve's eyes were trying very very hard not to wander down to his chest.

Bucky smirked. "Yeah," he agreed seriously. "You're probably right. It's a Sunday, after all, I wouldn't want to waste any of your time." He leaned back against the wall, pushing his hips forwards and crossing his legs at the ankle, folding his arms. "Thanks for dropping off my shit, Steve."

"It was nothing; we were in the area-"

"Still," Bucky shrugged, shooting him what he hoped was a charming grin. "Thank you. Sorry about the drama."

"It's fine, Buck. See you tomorrow."

"Ciao," Bucky smirked, returning Peggy's warm smile as Steve wrapped an arm around her and steered her away down the stairs.

As soon as they were out of sight Bucky let himself back into his apartment, where he was greeted by the smell of freshly brewing coffee.

"Oh my god," he groaned in relief as he almost jogged into the kitchen, where Jim and Monty were huddled around the coffee pot. "Thank you Jesus."

"So that was Steve," Jim said conversationally, raising his eyebrows into his coffee mug without looking at Bucky.

"Yeah," Bucky said pointedly. "Steve Rogers."

"Who's Steve?" Monty asked, confused.

Jim poured a cup of coffee out for Gabriel and set it down on the counter for when he woke up. "The guy Bucky's trying to sleep with."

"Didn't he come here with a girl?"

"Yep," Bucky sighed, taking a long sip of the coffee. "I did kiss him a couple of weeks ago, but it didn't go anywhere. It was kinda my fault, but I panicked."

Monty snorted. "Smooth."

"Tell me about it. They don't call me the master sniper for nothing; I get 'em exactly where I want 'em," Bucky said sarcastically, drawing a laugh from his two friends.

"Aw, come on, Winter, don't be like that. Plenty of other fish in the sea."

"Yeah," Monty snickered, "and if that doesn't work out, just sleep with his girlfriend!"

The absurdity of that particular idea made Bucky laugh, and once he'd started, he found it hard to return to his bad mood.

His friends were right. Natasha was right. There were loads of other people he could make a move on if he wanted to; Steve was taken, and there was nothing he could do about that.

Except flirt outrageously with him and drive him crazy.

Because _that_ seemed like a lot more fun...

 


	5. Flatline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! so, uh, couple of things:
> 
> first of all, thanks for your lovely comments on the last chapter, it means a lot to hear from y'all :D I got really excited while writing this chapter, which is why it's up so soon after the last one, but also why it's slightly shorter than the others- sorry :s
> 
> second: just so you know, this is kind of a sad and angsty chapter, and I've included trigger warnings in the end notes. they do contain spoilers, which is why I've put them at the end, but if you have any specific triggers you want to avoid then please go to the bottom and check them out.
> 
> -cat

Bucky Barnes decided to go home for Thanksgiving.

To put this decision in perspective, here's a bit of background:

As a kid, Thanksgiving had always been Bucky's least favourite holiday.

He'd always found it stupid that once a year his entire family- aunts, uncles, cousins- got together and ate a huge-ass meal in the name of thanks, and then lived off minimum wage and ramen noodles for the other 364 days. If nothing else, it was impractical.

When his brother got sick, it made even _less_ sense to him to continue celebrating it.

Bucky hadn't gone home for Thanksgiving for almost eleven years.

But, for whatever reason, this year when he got the annual invitation from his mother in the mail, he was compelled by some unknown force of fate to say yes. 

And so he went home to Cobble Hill the day before Thanksgiving, by bus as his car was in the shop. None of his friends or colleagues expected him to be around to watch the game and all that trivial bullshit, because he was with his family.

So imagine the look of surprise, then shock, then _concern_ on Steve's face when he pulled open Natasha's front door at 9:30 in the evening to find a bedraggled Bucky standing there, soaked to the bone to the point where his white-gone-see-through shirt was clinging to the muscles beneath it. His was hair dripping wet and his black skinny jeans were leaking puddles onto the floor by his feet. He looked miserable.

Beside him was a boy- a teenager, wearing Bucky's familiar leather jacket. Bucky must've lent it to him to shield it from the rain. He looked even worse than Bucky did; he'd definitely been crying. His sharp blue eyes were wet and puffy, and Steve could seen his hands trembling where they hung loosely by his sides.

Steve stared. "Bucky _?_  I thought you went home- what _happened_ to you?! Who's this?!"

The kid stayed silent, and the more Steve looked at him the more he could see that he bore a striking resemblance to Bucky, right down to the expression on his face. His jaw was struck out almost defiantly, like he was trying to keep up a facade of strength.

"Steve?" Bucky was shaking, but with sadness or with the cold Steve wasn't sure. He took a deep breath, blinking up at Steve with red-rimmed eyes. He looked like he'd been crying. "Is Nat home?"

 

_**Three days earlier… ***_

 

"Fury wants the draft version of my gym presentation in by next Thursday," Steve complained to Sam as they stood in line at the cafeteria one afternoon. "I haven't even started yet."

"Why the hell not?" Was Sam's reply as the lunch lady piled enough roast chicken to feed a family of eight for a month onto his plate. "Leaving it a bit late, Steve, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Steve grumbled, handing the woman his plate. "I thought I was gonna get at least another month, though."

"Evidently not, sorry man."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you sound real broken up about it."

Sam grinned over his shoulder at Steve as he helped himself to the mashed potatoes. "My soul cries for you, it really does."

The pair walked their trays over to their usual table, where Natasha, Clint and Bucky were already sitting.

"Afternoon," Sam said cheerfully as he plopped his tray down opposite Natasha. "What're we talking about?"

Steve slid into the empty seat beside Sam and began helping himself to his lasagna.

"Thanksgiving," Clint supplied, lifting his fork to point it at Sam. "You got any plans, Wilson?"

Sam nodded with a mouthful of chicken. "Yep, gonna spend the weekend with my grandmother in Virginia. What about you losers?"

Bucky looked up and grinned charmingly at Steve from across the table.

Steve smiled back.

"None of us've got plans, do we," Natasha said with a shrug, glancing sideways at Clint. "Hey, you know, we should do something."

Clint raised his eyebrows. "Like what?"

"I dunno, just a little Thanksgiving of our own for people who don't have families and shit to deal with," she suggested, absently stabbing her chicken with her knife. "What about you, Steve? What are you doing for Thanksgiving?"

Steve shrugged as well; he had no idea. "I was just going to take Peggy out for dinner, maybe watch the game. She doesn't celebrate it anyway, and I've got nowhere to be-"

"You should come over to mine," Natasha decided. "Both of you. And you, Clint. We can do a little Thanksgiving with just us four. Oh, and James- you in?"

Bucky glanced up from where he was frowning at his potatoes. "Sorry?"

"Thanksgiving at mine?"

"Oh, I'd love to, Nat, but I can't. I'm actually going home this year."

Natasha seemed surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah," Bucky shrugged nonchalantly. "I figured I might as well."

Steve watched as Natasha frowned, but said nothing. He wondered why Bucky going home for Thanksgiving was such a big deal.

"Hey Buck," Steve said after a few seconds, glancing up at his friend. "You know when Peggy and I came over to give you your bag the other day?"

Bucky pouted. "Was that the only reason? I thought you must've just missed my sparkling personality."

"Sure," Steve smirked, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, I was just wondering, why did your friend call you Winter?"

"Which friend?" Natasha asked lazily, lifting her carton of orange juice to her lips.

"Jim," Bucky supplied, before answering Steve. "That was my nickname in the military."

"Kind of an unusual nickname, isn't it?"

Bucky grinned. "Yeah, guess so. Nat here had one too."

"Don't you say it."

"The men used to call her-"

" _James_ -"

"-the Black Widow, because-"

Natasha threw her orange juice at him, which he ducked expertly, beaming up at her. 

"Oh come on, Nat, you can do better than _that_."

"ты кусок дерьма," Natasha hissed, and Sam frowned curiously.

"What's that?"

"She just called me a piece of shit," Bucky smirked, shooting the fiery redhead a wink. "Natalia's just jealous because my nickname's better than hers."

"Why do they call you that; is there a story behind it?" Steve prompted, genuinely curious. That, and he was pretty sure Natasha was about to throw herself across the table and throttle Bucky, and he didn't want to set a bad example to the students.

"They used to call him the Winter Soldier," Natasha said quickly, beating Bucky to the punch, "But they shortened it. They called him that because he used to complain about the cold _all_ the fucking time-"

"Not true!" Bucky argued, flicking a pea in her general direction, "It was because I was always a fantastic shot when it was snowing and nobody else could see for shit." Bucky winked at Steve. "I've got _great_ aim."

" _You're_ the Winter Soldier?!" Clint said incredulously, staring at Bucky in surprise. "I consulted on one of your missions a few years back; Iran 2006? We spoke a couple times over comms."

"Codename?"

"Hawkeye."

"No shit," Bucky nodded as he slumped back in his chair, making a face like he was impressed. "You totally worked for S.H.I.E.L.D!"

Clint was grinning. "That's classified."

Steve frowned. "What's shield?"

"An acronym, Steve."

"I can't believe we both ended up teaching here; small fucking world. You know, I think we actually met once-"

Clint rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I remember you. Your hair was stupid and you were more of an asshole."

Natasha snorted.

Steve tried to muffle his laughter with one hand without much success.

Bucky, however, laughed with them. "Well what can I say; girls love that kind of rugged charm." His eyes raised to meet Steve's. Bucky smirked. "And some guys."

Steve felt his cheeks flush, and he quickly returned to eating his lunch.

Bucky had been acting a lot more… Brazen, over the last few days. It seemed that ever since Steve had turned his offer of dinner down, he'd lost any kind of inhibitions regarding the subject, and had resorted to openly and frequently flirting with Steve in front of various other people.

Students included.

And, oddly, Natasha.

Steve was still sure that they were dating. They had to be; Bucky had told him not to mention their kiss to Natasha, which he hadn't. They had 'sleepovers' at each others houses all the time. Hell, he was pretty certain that Natasha actually had a key to Bucky's apartment. If they weren't dating then they were at the very _least_ sleeping together for casual sex.

Which had only made him all the more determined to get whatever weird feelings he still may or may not have for one particular Sergeant Barnes out of his head.

Steve would be lying if he said he wasn't still pretty attracted to the guy, especially now he was starting to grow his hair out a bit, but Peggy still came first. She was everything he hadn't realised he'd been missing out on, and Sam insisted that he was 100% in a better mood whenever she was around. But for some unknown reason, Bucky still lingered in the back of his brain, filling a small part of him with guilt every time Peggy smiled at him.

But that was fucked up, wasn't it? They were both taken. They were both seeing other people.

When did his life become this shitshow?

He blinked himself out of his mini existential crisis and tried to pay attention to the conversation again.

"Oh please," Natasha was saying, rolling her eyes, "I was always a better shot than you."

Bucky snorted. "Uh, no. You were better at _drinking_ shots than me. From a skills-with-firearms perspective, that was me."

"Bullshit!"

"Right, you know what, we're gonna go down to that shooting range on 22nd one afternoon and we're gonna test it out."

Natasha glared at him, holding out her hand. "Deal."

They shook.

Steve looked up at Clint, who was wearing an expression not dissimilar to his own resigned one.

"I swear, they're like siblings."

"Oh please, if we were related I would've killed her before she reached the age of five just to save myself the trouble."

"Not possible; I'm smarter, I would've seen you coming," Natasha shot back.

Sam's eyes rolled so far back into his head that Steve wasn't sure he would ever be able to right them again.

"I gotta head out," Steve interrupted as he stood up. "I've got work to do."

Clint snorted. "What work could there possibly be to do in the _gym_?"

"Ha ha," Steve shot back sarcastically, pretending to ignore Clint's teasing grin. "I've actually got a project thing I gotta do for Fury. I'll see you all later."

"Are you definitely up for Thanksgiving then? You can bring Peggy," Natasha promised, watching him with a hopeful expression.

Steve couldn't say no to her puppy eyes.

"Sure," he agreed, and Natasha gave him a dorky grin. 

"Awesome!"

"Can you text me your address or something?"

"I've lost my phone; Clint'll do it."

Bucky got to his feet as well, dusting off the front of his charcoal grey suit pants. "I'll come with you," he told- not offered, _told_ \- Steve, shooting him a sideways smirk. "I've got a free period next, and I've missed going to the gym. It's been a while, huh?"

Steve tried to pretend that Bucky's blasé approach to flirting wasn't doing inappropriate things to his stomach. His very much in-a-relationship stomach.

Maybe he should try therapy.

"Okay," was all he could say in response, and within seconds him and Bucky were walking side-by-side out the door, dodging various students who were running late and sidestepping around a very stressed-looking Darcy, who completely ignored their presence.

"So," Bucky said as they began to climb the stairs to the gym. "Thanksgiving with Nat, huh?"

"Yeah," Steve half chuckled. "Guess so."

"I gotta warn you, pal, her cooking really sucks."

"Does it?"

"God yes. She can do scrambled eggs, but aside from that- it's kind of like, have you ever seen Slumdog Millionaire?"

Steve frowned over at him. "Yeah?"

"Well, you know that scene when the kid's locked in the crapper and he wants to see the famous guy and the only way he can get out is by crawling through-"

"Oh my god, stop," Steve interrupted loudly, a horrified look on his face, and Bucky's entire being lit up like a lantern as he laughed; a loud, joyous sound, that made it hard for Steve not to crack a small grin of his own.

"It's that bad?"

"It's _really_ that bad."

"Christ."

Bucky beamed over at him, and god, it was like light practically shone out of every cell in his body. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Steve laughed, shaking his head in mild amusement. "I really hope you're lying to me."

Suddenly Bucky's hand was resting lightly on his bicep, all warmth and weight and skin. 

"Steve," he said seriously, "I would never lie to you."

They stood there for a second as Steve's mouth dried up, not really sure what to make of Bucky's sudden swap to complete sincerity, and not sure if there was a double-entendre in there somewhere or he just meant about Natasha's crappy cooking.

But then, Bucky grinned again, and it was _radiant_. Jesus fuck, he looked like the sun.

"Why do you look like you just saw a ghost? Jesus, Stevie, her cooking won't _kill_ you."

Steve forced a laugh. "Yeah, guess not," he agreed jokingly, and Bucky grinned, clapping him on the back.

"Come on, let's go do this super secret project for Fury. Maybe I can help."

As they walked up the remainder of the stairs together, Steve wanted nothing more than to crawl in a hole and die.

He _really_ liked Bucky.

And he _really_ liked Peggy.

He _hated_ himself.

 

_**Thanksgiving: 2PM *** _

 

"I can't believe you made me get the bus here," Bucky grumbled as he stepped out of the rain and over the threshold of his parent's house, and his childhood home. "You do understand that it's shitting it down with rain, don't you? The nearest bus stop is twenty minutes away; I had to walk ten blocks."

The tall, pepper-haired man in the doorway sidestepped out of Bucky's way. "Last minute storm," he said unsympathetically as he shut the door again, holding out his hand. "Your own fault your car's in the shop. It's good to see you, James."

Bucky cracked a slight smile, shaking the outstretched hand. "You too, Dad."

"I'm glad you've finally decided to come home for Thanksgiving. It means a lot to your mother."

"Ma's Russian, she shouldn't give two shits about Thanksgiving."

Bucky's dad rolled his eyes. "You'd think, wouldn't you?"

Bucky smirked. "Where's the KGB now, then? Just so I know where to avoid."

His father gave him a worn smile. "Your Ma's in the kitchen. Don't want to give too much away, but dear god, don't touch the gravy. Don't even smell the gravy. Don't _look_ at the gravy. If asked, say it's not as good as usual, but it'll do. Make no other comments."

Bucky stared at him. "What happened to the gravy?"

"It's a very sensitive subject this year. We had to use granules."

"Ohhh," Bucky said, understanding.

"She doesn't like the granules."

"No sir."

"Mm."

The two Barnes men stood in the hallway for a few seconds, unsure of how to proceed. They were remarkably similar in appearance, as Bucky had been told multiple times, but George Barnes stood a lot taller than Bucky, and held himself with a lot more pride. He'd been army, too- He was a Captain, back in his day, and Bucky knew that his leaving at Sergeant status had always been a great disappointment to his father.

But George never said anything about it, so as far as Bucky was concerned, it wasn't an issue.

"Your siblings are all here already, too. Save Jessie. But Andy's here with the girls."

"Where's Jess?"

"At the hospital with your brother. She should be home in a few hours. Your mother wanted to go herself, but Henry and I convinced her to take a few hours off." His father looked tired- exhausted, even. Bucky knew that as shit as this whole situation with Xander was for him, his parents had it a hundred times worse.

"I'll go say hi to everyone," Bucky decided, in an attempt to make the subject a little lighter. "Wouldn't want them thinking I skipped out again."

"No," George agreed, but he seemed distracted.

Bucky lingered for just a second more before he swallowed dryly and headed into the kitchen.

The kitchen was _packed_.

Sometimes Bucky forgot just how _large_ his family was.

Xander was the oldest, but he was rarely home anymore. For obvious reasons.

Then there was Jessica the architect, her husband Andy, and their two daughters- Georgina (after their dad) and Sophie. Their mother had sworn that no child should ever be stuck with her own name, so Jess had abided by her wishes. (In truth, Katya wasn't such a terrible name, but Jessica had not been willing to risk the wrath of the angry Russian woman who raised them.)

After Jessica there was Sebastian, a wedding planner, and just a year older than Bucky. He was married, too, to a lovely girl from Indiana who Bucky had only met a couple of times. They didn't have any kids, thank god, or Bucky's parents would've been that more insistent on getting him a girl. Instead they just complained to their older son about why he had no 'heirs'.

Then there was Bucky, obviously, and after Bucky, there was his younger sister Anna. Anna was married (surprise) with three children, two boys and a girl. Her husband, Dan, had picked the names, which was why they were all so shitty: Crystal, Roger and Charlie. Not that Bucky would ever tell the kids what he thought of their names. They all loved him.

Next in line in the Barnes clan was Sascha, Bucky's second-youngest sibling. He was just 19, still in college, and definitely involved in some kind of weird drugs cartel, if you asked Bucky. But he was _so_ not willing to get involved.

Bucky's youngest brother was Henry. He was still a kid, only 16, but because of the sheer size of his family and the massive age gaps between them all he always seemed a lot older. He was more quiet, which Bucky liked, and more perceptive, which Bucky _didn't_ like. Actually, _nobody_ liked it. In a family as large as theirs secrets were coveted like diamonds, and it was a pain in the ass when the kid brother was able to see straight through you.

So when Bucky stepped into the kitchen and was greeted by four of his siblings, two brother-in-laws, one sister-in-law, three nieces, two nephews, and his mother- he forced himself to grin.

"Guess who's here," he announced loudly to the very full kitchen, holding his arms out wide, and was instantly barrelled into by a little girl with flowing blonde hair.

"Hi Uncle Jamie," she squealed excitedly, hugging him tightly around the middle.

"Hey Soph," he greeted warmly, ruffling his niece's hair. "My god, kiddo, you've _grown_!"

"Two inches," she said proudly.

"Woah, awesome!"

Before he could spew some more bullshit smalltalk with a five-year-old, he was thankfully saved by Sebastian, who appeared to his left and threw an arm around his shoulder.

"Jimmy!" He said loudly and with a huge, toothy smile, that make him look less like a professional business man and more like a dorky teenager.

"You're literally the only person in the entire world who calls me that," Bucky pointed out, and not for the first time.

"Hell yeah I am; I'm the boring brother, I gotta have something."

Sebastian wheeled him over to their mother, who was facing away from them, chopping carrots over a large pot on the stove.

"Ma, look; James actually showed up for once."

The short, plump woman with a mop of dark hair and bright blue eyes spun around in surprise, still wielding the knife.

Both brothers instantly ducked away from it, swearing.

"Ma, Jesus! Put that thing down!"

"James!" She cried, _still holding the knife_ as she pulled him into a tight hug.

Bucky gave his brother a horrified expression, mouthing 'help me' desperately at him, but Sebastian just smirked and sidled off.

"Nobody thought you would come," his mother admitted in her thick Russian accent as she let him go, returning to chopping the carrots. "But I told them, I said no, my boy will come this year."

"Well, you were right," James agreed, only half listening as he glanced around at the rest of his very large family.

A couple of people waved at him, he waved back; he'd get around to saying hi properly to everyone later. It was a routine they had perfected over the years- there were simply too many of them to deal with all at once.

"Didn't you bring a girl, James?"

Bucky sighed, turning to watch his mother as he leaned against the counter and folded his arms over his plain white t-shirt. "No, ma, I didn't bring a girl."

"Well why not?"

"Because I'm single, remember?"

"No girlfriend?"

Bucky groaned. "That's what _single_ means."

"Here, peel the rest of these for me, there's a good boy." His mother thrust the knife and a carrot into his hands before he could say no. "Haven't you been dating?"

"Not since you last mentioned it, no," he snapped out of annoyance, beginning to slice up the rest of the carrots as his mother picked up a separate bowl full of potatoes. 

"Oh, James, I do wish you'd find yourself a nice woman."

"Or man," Bucky couldn't help but mutter under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing."

 

_**5PM *** _

 

It had all happened so fast that Bucky wasn't even entirely sure what had actually taken place.

They had all been sitting in the dining room; not yet eating, just chatting, talking about things like "how's work" or "how's school" or "how's your comfortable financial state, because mine ain't so comfortable". It was nice, Bucky had realised, being back with his family. Sometimes it was hard to remember what you missed when you'd gone without it for so long.

But then his mother's phone had rang, and he'd heard Jessica's panicked voice on the other end, and just like that it was chaos.

Everyone had piled into their respective cars- Bucky taking a lift with his parents, as his car was otherwise occupied- and driven en masse to the hospital, where Jessica had placed her panicked, sobbing phone call from.

Dan, Andy and the kids had all been refused entry to the ward because they weren't immediate family, but at this point nobody really cared.

Bucky, his siblings and his parents had practically sprinted down the white-washed hallway, skidding to a halt outside of a pair of double doors marked 'intensive care'.

They had been instructed not to go any further.

Jessica was standing there too, waiting for them; tear streaks marking her pale cheeks. Bucky didn't remember much except pulling her into a tight hug, telling her it'll all be alright, but he knew it wouldn't. They all kind of knew.

His father kicked up a fuss; _"Why won't they let me see him, I'm his father,"_ but the man guarding the doors- Rumlow, or something- wouldn't budge.

 _"He's too critical,"_ he had said.  _"Give the doctors some space."_

His mother collapsed into one of the chairs, clutching at her heart, and two of Bucky's brothers- he didn't remember which two- had rushed to her side, kneeling on the floor beside her, murmuring words of encouragement. Murmuring lies.

It had been an hour already since they first arrived, and they knew nothing except what Jessica had told them upon arrival.

"His kidney collapsed," she had sobbed out. "We were just sitting there, talking, and then suddenly there were lights flashing on the monitors and he began to seize and then he just stopped moving and they took him away and made me wait out here-"

Henry had made her stop talking then, because he'd been the only one who noticed their mother trembling in her chair, looking like she was about to fall apart.

Now they were just sat in silence in the chairs by the door blocking them from seeing Xander, unwilling to speak to one another for fear of saying the wrong thing.

Bucky hadn't said word since he'd tried to calm his sister down an hour ago, and he was planning on keeping it that way. His throat felt tight and constricted, and he was sure that even if he wanted to speak, he'd find he wouldn't be able to. The whole thing felt surreal, like it wasn't really happening, and by the expressions on his siblings' faces as he slowly looked around at all of them, he wasn't the only one thinking it.

His mother, on the other hand, seemed to think it was all too real. She was openly sobbing in her chair, face buried into their father's chest, who was sitting completely still with a grave expression. He maintained a composure that was only ever obvious in those who had been in the military- a sort of silent pain, a kind that other servicemen knew all too well, but was often mistaken by civilians as complete indifference.

Bucky was sure he carried it as well.

The double doors suddenly swung open, and a man in a white doctor's coat over his scrubs came jogging out, a file clutched tightly in his hands.

"Alexander Simon Barnes?"

The entire family got to their feet.

The doctor frowned, eyes sweeping across everyone. "You all immediate family?"

"Yes," came the unanimous response.

Bucky kept his eyes trained on the nervous-looking doctor. He could see a bead of sweat trickling down his brow and was half tempted to slap him across the face because dammit, why was _he_ stressed, _he_ wasn't the one with a dying brother, a dying _son_ -

"How's he doing?" Came his father's cool, collected voice, that reminded Bucky a lot of the calm before the storm.

He watched as his mother covered her mouth in her hands, clearly terrified.

"He's not doing so well," came the doctor's steady reply, fingers twitching against the folder clasped in his hands. "He hasn't yet regained consciousness and we're unable to stabilise him. But he's a fighter, alright. I think you should know that. He ain't giving up so easily."

"Can we see him?" Sebastian interrupted, and the doctor bit his lip.

"The attending thinks that it would be wise to prepare yourselves for the worst-"

Bucky closed his eyes as he heard his mother's wail of despair.

This was a dream. It had to a dream.

A terrible, horrible dream.

"They said he had two months," he found himself saying automatically as he opened his eyes and trained them on the doctor. His voice was cracked and broken, but he kept talking anyway, powering through. "You, you _assholes_ , you said he had two more months."

"We predicted," the doctor corrected as he fumbled with the file. "But predictions aren't always accurate-"

Bucky's hands tightened into fists at his sides. "Then why bother," he hissed, but before he could say anything else there was a hand on his shoulder.

"Jamie," Sascha's low voice was murmuring into his ear. "Don't."

Bucky relaxed slightly under his brother's hand, but kept his fingers balled up tightly.

"We'd like to see him," Sascha said, louder. "All of us."

Anna took a step forwards, forcing Bucky's fist apart and lacing their fingers together. She gave his hand a tight squeeze, and he found himself squeezing back.

"Follow me," the doctor said finally, and all eight of them followed.

As they were led through the eerily empty white halls that smelled like bleach time seemed to slow down, and Bucky felt like he was hovering above everyone, watching himself and his family walk down the corridor, towards what would surely be the worst night of their lives.

An overwhelming sense of helplessness engulfed him, and he wasn't sure what to do.

For the first time in his life, he felt paralysed with fear. And considering his history, that was definitely something.

Before long they were coming to a halt outside a room marked ' _Barnes, Alexander S_.' The doctor opened the door in silence, and one by one they all filed through.

The man on the bed was barely recognisable.

Xander was pale- deathly white- and so thin and frail that Bucky was sure if he tried to hug him he'd snap into pieces. His fingers looked like porcelain as they lay draped loosely across the blankets. His eyes were shut, and his chest was rising shallowly, unevenly, like he was in pain.

There were tubes and other things that Bucky wasn't sure about inserted into his arms, nose and mouth, keeping him alive.

Bucky's mother was next to her son in seconds, gripping at his hand, sobbing into the blankets.

"My boy," she kept whispering over and over again. "My boy."

Bucky hung back with the rest of his siblings as their father joined her, carefully resting one hand on her back, stoic expression remaining plastered onto his face like a mask. Bucky couldn't help but admire it.

"It would be a miracle if he lasts the night," came the doctor's quiet voice from the door.

Anna's grip on Bucky's hand turned vice-like. Bucky swallowed thickly.

"I suggest you… You might want to say your goodbyes." In that moment the man in the white coat looked like he was going to be sick with the sheer weight of the words he was saying. "I'm so sorry."

"Can he hear us?" Sebastian asked quietly.

"We can't know for sure," the doctor said hesitantly, "but if you want my opinion, it couldn't hurt to try."

Then he was gone, the door swinging gently closed behind him.

The family was left alone.

As Bucky stood beside his brothers and sisters, silently watching as their mother begged miracles from a god they didn't believe in, he decided that enough was enough.

He broke free of Anna's death-grip on his hand and walked towards his mother, flicking out his tongue to wet his lips before he spoke in a gentle voice that still came out slightly rough because of the dryness in his throat. Voice raw, he managed to say, "Ma, the doctor said we should say goodbye." He gently placed his hand over hers, which was gripping tightly around Xander's motionless fingers. "Maybe we should."

His mother simply cried louder, and Bucky felt himself getting irritated. What part of he was going to die wasn't she understanding?! They had to prepare for the worst, they had to say _goodbye_ -

"He's right," came Henry's small voice from behind Bucky. "Ma, he's right."

God, _Henry_. Henry was only sixteen. Henry was a teenager, a _kid_ , and he was about to lose his older brother, whom he'd known his entire life, whom he'd never lived a day without.

Xander was the oldest.

It struck Bucky that none of them, none of his siblings, had ever known life without him.

He realised that they were about to.

And so slowly, one by one, his siblings carefully approached their brother, murmuring things to him; murmuring their goodbyes. Both Anna and Jess burst into tears when it was their turn, and Sebastian had to carefully lead them away from the bed, pulling both of them into tight hugs, a stray tear rolling down his own cheek.

And after Henry, it was Bucky's turn.

He carefully got down onto his knees beside his older brother, swallowing what little saliva he had left in his mouth in an attempt to bring back what was left of his voice.

"Xander," he murmured as he looked up into his brother's face, "Thank you. Thanks for fighting." In an attempt at humour, he half-joked, "You were always my favourite brother."

This drew a soft laugh from Sascha and Henry, and Bucky just about managed a smile.

"Anyway. I… I get that you've got places to be now and people to see. It's cool, brother, we'll… We'll catch up to you." He felt his eyes fill with tears, and as hard as he tried he couldn't quite blink them away. They spilled down his cheeks of his own accord, and it took just about everything he had to keep his voice level as he finished speaking. "Say hi to Kurt Cobain for me, would ya?"

He got to his feet again, brushing at his cheeks impatiently, trying to get rid of the tears.

Henry was suddenly in front of him, crushing into his chest, and Bucky found himself hugging his youngest brother tightly against his body, taking deep breaths.

The poor kid would never be the same after this, Bucky thought, the devastating weight of the realisation hitting him all at once.

Then, his father stepped forwards, very carefully placing one hand on Xander's shallowly moving chest. When he spoke, it was with such a gravity, such a presence, that the entire family fell silent and still, just listening.

"Remember when you used to wrestle your brothers around in the garden when you were kids?" George Barnes murmured, keeping his eyes transfixed on his eldest son's pale face. "And whenever your mother and I asked you to stop, you used to say, "Not yet, Dad. Because if I stop fighting, then it makes me the weakest.""

More tears flooded down the cheeks of their mother as she raised Xander's hand to her lips with trembling fingers, lightly kissing his knuckles.

Their father kept going.

"Well, sometimes, it's okay to stop fighting. Sometimes you have to look back and say, "That was a good fight, but I'm done. I'm too tired. I did the best that I could.""

His father swallowed. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse.

"Xander, son, it's okay to stop fighting. You fought a good fight. You made us proud; all of us. It's okay to let go."

The doctor reappeared in the doorway, but Bucky wasn't even sure anyone really noticed.

"It's okay," his father repeated in a cracked voice. "It's okay."

Henry hugged Bucky tighter, pressing his face into Bucky's chest.

The machines connected to Xander's body faltered.

The lights turned red.

The solid beeping of a heartbeat turned to a flatline.

His brother died.

 

**_7PM *_ **

 

As it turned out, Bucky had been right- Natasha's cooking truly was _awful_.

The turkey tasted not unlike roadkill, and he was pretty sure that instead of salt she'd just put bleach crystals on the potatoes, but Steve didn't dare say anything. He valued his life too much.

"This is great, Natasha," Clint finally said to break the awkward silence as they ate, and Steve exchanged a silent grin with Peggy from across the table.

"Yeah," he agreed quickly, and Peggy vehemently nodded her head. "It's great."

"Thanks you guys," Natasha said, pleased, smiling around the table at all of them. "Isn't this nice? We should do this every year."

"Maybe we should take it in turns though," Clint suggested. "Like, next year, it can be at _my_ house."

Natasha beamed. "That's such a cute idea!"

"Like a rota," Peggy nodded seriously. "Brilliant, Barton, bloody brilliant."

Steve fought hard to repress a snort of laughter.

"Thanks, Pegs," Clint acknowledged with a serious expression. 

Natasha didn't have a clue. She just smiled happily around at all of them in turn. "I'm so glad you guys could all come. I kind of wish James could've made it, though."

Steves stomach clenched uncomfortably.

"He went home, so what," Clint shrugged. "He's probably having ten times the fun we are right now-"

Steve's phone started ringing, vibrating the table.

"Steve," Peggy said reproachfully.

Steve quickly flicked the mute button on his iPhone, not bothering to check who it was. "Sorry."

"Does anyone want seconds?" Natasha looked up at Steve expectantly, offering him the plate. "Rogers?"

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly..."

"Clint?"

"Uh..."

 

**_9:30PM *_ **

 

Steve was laughing so hard that he felt like he was going to throw up.

" _Nat_ ," Clint choked out through his tears of laughter, "Natasha, you did _what_ in '08?"

"Shut up," Natasha snorted, smacking his leg. "That's it, I said it, we're never gonna speak of it again."

The four of them were lying sprawled out across Natasha's two couches; Steve and Peggy on one, and Clint and Tasha on the other. They werent doing much except laughing and slowly drinking themselves into oblivion, listening to the storm raging outside.

"Why weren't you arrested?!" Peggy managed to say through her laughter, and Natasha just winked up at her.

"Girl's gotta have her secrets."

" _Jesus Christ_ ," Steve snorted, throwing his head back in a laugh and clutching at his chest with one hand. "I'll never look at horses the same way again."

"Or clowns," Peggy added with a smirk. "Bloody hell."

"I think Natasha wins that round," Barton was laughing as he grinned widely over at Natasha. "And here I was, thinking that my donut story was a sure victor."

"Not so much," Natasha said with a smug grin.

Steve chuckled into his beer.

All of a sudden there were three solid knocks on the door.

"Expecting someone?" Clint raised his eyebrows.

Natasha frowned. "Not that I can think of..."

"Here, I'll get it," Steve supplied, standing up (as he was the closest) and heading over to pull open Natasha's front door.

What he saw was definitely not what he had been expecting.

Which brings us back to the present:

Bucky was standing there, soaked to the bone to the point where his white-gone-see-through shirt was clinging to the muscles beneath it. His was hair dripping wet and his black skinny jeans were leaking puddles onto the floor by his feet. He looked _miserable_.

Beside him was a boy- a teenager, wearing Bucky's familiar leather jacket. Bucky must've lent it to him to shield him from the rain. He looked even worse than Bucky did; he'd definitely been crying. His sharp blue eyes were wet and puffy, and Steve could seen his hands trembling where they hung loosely by his sides.

Steve stared. " _Bucky_? I thought you went home- what _happened_ to you?! Who's _this_?!"

The kid stayed silent, and the more Steve looked at him the more he could see that he bore a striking resemblance to Bucky, right down to the expression on his face. His jaw was struck out almost defiantly, like he was trying to keep up a facade of strength.

"Steve?" Bucky seemed surprised and almost _disappointed_ to see him. He was shaking, but with sadness or with the cold Steve wasn't sure. He took a deep breath, blinking up at Steve with red-rimmed eyes. He looked like he'd been crying. "Is Nat home?"

"I, uh..."

Natasha was suddenly behind him, shoving Steve out of the way as she rushed out of her apartment to pull Bucky into a tight hug, seeming not to care that he was totally soaked.

"James, what happened?" She asked as she coaxed him inside, the teenager trailing behind.

"We, um, we walked here."

"From _Cobble Hill_?!"

"No, from the hospital."

Natasha eyes nearly bugged out of her head. " _James_ ," she half gasped, "that's an hour's _drive_ -"

"I couldn't get a cab in this rain," Bucky mumbled by way of explanation, wrapping an arm around the dark-haired boy's shoulders. "Nat, this is my brother Henry. Remember him?"

Natasha looked like she wanted to ask more questions, but kept her mouth shut.

"Yeah, I remember..."

Clint and Peggy were both on their feet, staring on in silence, unsure of what to say. Not unlike Steve himself, who was stood there like a lemon.

"I'm so sorry to just kind of turn up like this, it's just, your place was closer than mine, and I didn't have a car, and we kind of needed to just..." Bucky trailed off, and Steve didn't miss the way he swallowed thickly like he was holding back tears.

"James," Natasha tried again gently, reaching out to take one of his hands, "What happened?"

There was a silence.

"Is it okay if we stay here for a bit?" Bucky managed to get out eventually, squeezing his brother's shoulder. "He could use a rest-"

"Of course," Natasha said immediately, gripping his hand tightly and pulling him over to the now-vacated couch, as she didn't have a spare room. "Whatever you need."

Within ten minutes, Natasha and Peggy had settled Henry onto the couch with a warm blanket and a mug of hot chocolate. Steve could see that he was trying to be strong about whatever had happened, but judging by the way he kept looking around for Bucky like he was afraid to be alone said a lot about how frightened he must've really been.

That, and the kid hadn't said a word since they'd arrived.

Bucky himself kept refusing help, as if he _wasn't_ about to die of hypothermia in his soaking wet clothes, and it took Clint and Steve a good ten minutes to convince him to at _least_ take a towel.

Steve, Natasha, Peggy and Clint soon found themselves alone in the kitchen, watching as Bucky knelt down on the floor in front of his brother and began to speak in a hushed, gentle tone. None of them could quite make out what was being said, but they almost seemed to be arguing.

"What the hell _happened_ ," was all Steve could think to say, and Natasha simply gave him a reproachful look.

"You leave him alone, Rogers. He'll tell us if he wants to."

Steve sighed, brain feeling a little fuzzy. "Right."

If nothing else was clear about that night, he knew one thing; this weight that Bucky seemed to be carrying around with him, this sense of loss- he never wanted to see him like this again.

There was something almost mechanical about his movements, like he was just going through the motions without engaging at all. Something dead in his eyes. Something broken in his words.

Steve almost didn't notice when Bucky slipped into the kitchen beside him, rubbing at his hair with a towel. 

"Henry's mad at me for intruding," he murmured, not making eye contact with any of them. "He's right, Natasha, I'm sorry. We'll head back to mine in a little bit."

"James, you can stay here for as long as you want, honestly-"

"Bucky," Steve interrupted, and everyone's eyes were suddenly on him. Bucky was watching him with the same defiant expression that he had seen earlier on his brother, when he'd first opened the door.

Steve felt very self-conscious as he slowly placed a hand on Bucky's arm, which was still a little damp. "Buck, what happened?"

"I tried to call you."

Steve froze. "Y-you did?"

"Yeah. A couple times. You didn't pick up though."

"I'm sorry, my phone was on silent-"

"Yeah, I guessed you must've been busy." Steve didn't miss the way Bucky's eyes lingered almost angrily on Peggy.

"You said you came from the hospital," came Natasha's quiet voice from Steve's left. "James, did something... Xander..."

"He died."

There was something so horribly _final_ about Bucky's words that made Steve's heart crumple. 

"Nat, my brother died." All the emotions he had clearly been trying to hold back for the last ten minutes suddenly came flooding out, and Bucky let out a choked sob, letting his head drop. "He just..."

And then Natasha was there, pulling him into her arms, letting him press his face into her shoulder.

Steve watched as a tear trickled down her cheek as she gently rubbed at his back. "I'm sorry," she whispered as she brushed her free hand through his hair. "James, I'm sorry..."

Steve didn't know what to say. He looked up and Clint and Peggy to see similar expressions of total shock on their faces too, and was somewhat relieved to discover that he hadn't been the only one.

Peggy had both hands covering her mouth, looking completely taken aback, and Clint just stood there in silence with a grave expression, staring solemnly at the floor.

Steve found himself at a complete loss for words.

He stood there quietly, uselessly, as Natasha mumbled words of comfort in Russian into Bucky's ear, holding tightly to his trembling body.

Steve had never seen him look more vulnerable.

After a few minutes Bucky straightened up, holding his head high, swallowing tightly before clearing his throat.

"We, uhh... We should get going."

"No," Natasha objected immediately, "absolutely not. You're staying here."

Bucky winced, quickly drying his eyes on his sleeve like the tears were something he should be ashamed of. "Nat, you don't have the space."

Steves heart swelled with affection for the man standing in front of him. Even when his world was falling apart, and even when he pretended it wasn't, he still refused help. It was almost like he didn't think he deserved it.

"No I do; you guys can take my bed, and I'll sleep on the couch."

"I really can't ask you-"

"You're not asking, I'm telling."

" _Nat_ -"

"Stay with me," Steve found himself saying, without even properly thinking it through. "Buck, you can stay with me."

Bucky turned the full force of his complete denial on Steve instead. "Oh god, no, that's really not necessary, I can't ask you guys to go tocall this trouble, really-"

"Bucky," Steve said firmly, "really. I have a spare room, I've got a bit more space, and I literally live about ten minutes away. I should probably be getting home soon anyway. Please."

His eyes briefly made contact with Peggy's, and she just gave him a soft nod.

"I don't mind. I'd like the company."

"Steve," Bucky groaned, and in that split second their eyes met, and it was like Steve could see directly into his soul.

He was so scared, and vulnerable, and tired, and cold, and to hell if Steve was going to let him _walk_ all the way back to his own apartment.

"You're staying with me."

Bucky was still looking at him like he wanted to refuse, but Steve wasn't going to take no for an answer. 

"You live on the other side of town and you don't have a _car_ , Bucky. You don't even have a guest room. Please, just... Come home with me."

Natasha didn't even give Bucky the chance to say no before she was pushing him out of the kitchen.

"Thank you, Steve," she mouthed gratefully at him over the sounds of Bucky's spluttering protests.

"It's nothing," he shrugged, because really, it wasn't. He _cared_ about Bucky. No way was he letting him spend the night in an empty apartment on his own, even if his brother was there. Something about it just didn't seem right.

"Henry," Natasha said gently as she approached the couch, "you and James are gonna go back to Steve's place for the night..."

Steve turned around, feeling kind of weird about listening in, and found himself face-to-face with Peggy.

She offered him a watery smile.

"That was real nice of you."

"I just don't think they should have to do this alone," Steve murmured as he glanced over his shoulder, watching Henry walk over to his brother, and Bucky shuffle his feet uncomfortably as he waited for Steve to join them by the door. It occurred to him that he wasn't even sure why Bucky had brought Henry here at all.

"Are you definitely okay to drive?" Peggy was watching him with concerned eyes.

"I'm fine," Steve assured her, leaning down to press a light kiss to her lips. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," Peggy echoed as Steve went over to the door, bidding goodbye to Natasha and Clint as he carefully out a hand on Bucky's arm and led him out of the room.

"Thank you for this," Bucky said finally as the three piled into Steve's car, Bucky getting shotgun, while Henry just sat quietly in the back seat. Steve still hadn't heard him say a word.

"It's nothing," Steve promised. "Really."

They drove for a few minutes in silence, with Steve glancing around every couple of seconds to make sure his passengers were okay.

"I'm sorry I missed your calls."

Bucky shrugged, and Steve couldn't see his expression as he stared out the window. "It doesn't matter."

"Fucking liar," came a muttered voice in the backseat, and Bucky turned around to glare at his brother.

"Henry."

" _What_?"

"Please don't."

"Whatever," the kid muttered, and Steve could see him crossing his arms across his chest in the mirror as he glanced up at it.

More silence.

"Bucky?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

Bucky sighed, and this time when Steve glanced over, he could see that his friend had closed his eyes. "Yeah," Bucky agreed quietly. "Me too."

It wasn't long before they arrived at Steve's building.

He led them up the stairs to his apartment, fumbling with the keys slightly as he tried to unlock it.

"Need help with those?" Bucky asked almost sarcastically, and Steve gritted his teeth.

"I got it."

He managed to unlock his door after a few more seconds of struggling, and then they were inside.

"The spare room's through there," Steve told them both, gesturing towards a closed door opposite his own. "Bathroom's on the left. I should have some spare clothes and blankets and stuff if you guys are cold-"

"I actually kind of just want to go to bed," came Henry's uncertain voice, and Steve found himself nodding.

"Yeah, of course. Go right ahead. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

That won him an almost-smile from the dark-haired boy. "Thanks for letting us crash here."

"Don't mention it."

"I mean it. Thanks." Henry gave Steve a small nod before he disappeared into Steve's guest room, closing the door behind him.

"I'm worried about him," Bucky murmured, and Steve could've sworn that he felt a hand brush against his own. "He's... He's just a kid. What happened today... It'll mess him up for a while."

"What about you," Steve asked quietly, turning to face Bucky with concern in his eyes. "How're _you_ doing?"

Bucky just about managed a watery smile. "You know what they say. If you're going through hell," he chuckled quietly, and that was when Steve noticed him shivering.

"Let's get you into something dry before you get hypothermia," he decided, taking Bucky by the shoulders and guiding him through into Steve's own room.

He began to rummage through the wardrobe, trying to find clothes of his that looked like they might fit Bucky.

"Steve, you've done enough already, I don't need to take your _clothes_ -"

"Here," Steve interrupted, holding out a pair of grey track suit pants that were slightly too small for him and a navy blue long-sleeved t-shirt. "Will these fit?"

Bucky looked up at him through his eyelashes, and for a second Steve forgot how to breathe.

"Yeah," was all he said as he carefully took the clothes out of Steve's proffered hands. "They'll do fine, Steve. Thank you."

He started to strip off his wet clothes right then and there, and Steve flushed, turning away to give him a bit of privacy.

"Steve, pal, I really don't mind if you want to watch," came quiet, half-teasing words from over Steve's shoulder.

"I can't believe you," Steve chuckled, shaking his head. "You wanna flirt with me? Right now?"

"Well, we _are_ alone in your bedroom, and I've just suffered a family crisis." Bucky's arms slowly slid around his waist from behind. "A little human comfort would be nice."

Steve stood perfectly still, swallowing. "Bucky," he murmured after a moment, feeling the cool skin of Bucky's nose lightly brush the back of his neck. "You know I can't."

Bucky smelled like nicotine and damp and something sweeter, like leftover cologne, and Steve found himself hoping that the smell of him would rub off on the clothes he was wearing, because it just smelled so _comfortable_. So familiar.

He heard Bucky's huff of quiet laughter, feeling his warm breath on his neck. "Yeah. I know."

Then the body pressed up against his was gone, and when he finally worked up the courage to turn around, Bucky had already left the room.

Steve swallowed, following him. 

Bucky was now sitting curled up on the couch in the center of Steve's living room, his battered old phone in his hands.

"Do you want a drink?" Steve offered as he made his way into the kitchen. "I'm having one. I could murder a whiskey."

Bucky let out a long, deep sigh. "I wouldn't say no," he admitted, his big blue eyes flicking up to Steve's. "Thanks."

The sleeves on the shirt were too long for his arms, and Steve could tell that the sweatpants were hanging obscenely low on Bucky's much narrower hips, but he forced himself to focus.

"It's, um, it's fine." He grabbed two glasses and poured them each a whiskey. "What about your brother, would he want anything?"

Bucky shook his head somewhat sadly. "He wanted to be alone. He'll be okay."

Steve nodded quietly, heading back over to where Bucky was sitting and curling up on the other end of the couch, handing his friend a glass.

"Cheers," Bucky acknowledged, immediately raising the glass to his lips.

Steve was quiet for a few minutes after that, watching the golden brown liquid swirl around in his glass as he moved it. But after a while, his desire to ask questions became too strong.

"How come you brought your brother back with you?" He finally asked in a soft voice, looking up at Bucky. "Are you two close?"

Bucky shook his head, and there was definite regret in his tone when he next spoke. "Not as close as we should be. That's the problem with a big family, see?" He sighed, taking another sip of whiskey before answering Steve's original question.

"The rest of my siblings had people to go home to. Even Sascha has a proper girlfriend. But Henry just has Ma and Dad, and I'm on my own, so..." He shrugged. "I figured it would be better for both of us to get out of my parents' way, just for one night."

"That was kind of you, Buck," Steve murmured.

Bucky crinkled his nose up. "Yeah, sure. We walked for two hours in the rain. Real kind."

Steve winced. "I could've come and picked you up."

Bucky's lips quirked into an almost-smile. "Yeah," he agreed, "You coulda."

"I'm sorry I didn't answer the phone."

"It's not your fault, Steve. You've more than made up for it, anyways." Bucky sank deeper into the couch, curling his knees up to his chest as his head rolled to the side to look over at Steve. "Thanks again, you know. For letting us come here."

"You don't need to keep thanking me," Steve tried to explain. "I just didn't think you deserved to be on your own. You deserved to be with someone who cares about you. And, also, someone with a guest room."

Bucky's mouth twitched into a small smile again. "And that's you, is it?"

Steve almost frowned at him. "Of course. You shouldn't even have to ask."

"I just figured, you know, 'cause of Peggy-"

Steve sighed. "Buck, for god's sake, I can't believe I even need to say this: Peggy or no Peggy, _whatever_ , you've kinda become one of my best friends, and I _care_ about you. Do you really think you'd be here right now if I didn't?"

That seemed to stun him into silence.

Not for long, through.

"That was why I tried to call you in the first place."

Steve looked sharply up at him, but Bucky wasn't even facing his general direction.

"I'm sorry about your brother, Bucky. I know how it feels to lose someone you love. I wouldn't wish it on anyone." The words sounded insincere and ridiculous once they'd come out of his mouth, and Steve instantly wanted to smack himself in the face with a lamp.

"Me neither," Bucky agreed quietly. "I just… I don't know what to think. It all feels kind of surreal, you know? Like a bad dream. Like maybe tomorrow I'll wake up and it'll be back to the way it was."

"Yeah," Steve murmured, raising his glass to his lips. "If only it were that simple."

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for another few minutes, neither wanting to be the one that broke it.

Steve pulled his phone out of his pocket for the first time since he'd put it on silent, and shit, he had 7 missed calls from Bucky, two voicemails and three texts. A tidal wave of guilt rushed through him, and he found himself staring up at Bucky with a wince on his face.

"You called me _7 times_?"

Bucky's big blue eyes flashed up to his. "I panicked."

Steve chewed on his lip, feeling like literally the worst person to ever walk the planet. Bucky, his friend, his charming, gorgeous friend that he may or may not have a bit of a crush on, had been in need of some serious help and he'd been too stupid to even check the caller ID on his phone before shutting it off. What did that say about him?

Bucky refused to make eye contact with him again, so Steve dropped the subject.

The next time Steve happened to glance over at Bucky, he noticed he was yawning, covering his mouth with one hand.

"Tired?"

"Mm… Pal, if it's okay with you, I'm gonna try and get some sleep."

"Of course it's okay," Steve agreed with a sigh. He got to his feet. "You take the bed; I'm good on the couch."

Bucky frowned, standing up as well. "No, the couch is fine."

"Exactly; take the bed."

" _No_ , Steve, I-"

"Bucky, this is non-negotiable."

"Oh, I beg to fucking differ-"

"Take the bed!"

" _No_!"

Steve let out an exasperated sigh. " _Bucky_ -"

"Fine," Bucky huffed, folding his arms tightly over his chest and giving Steve a cross look. "We'll share."

"Share what?"

"Share the bed. That is, unless you have a problem with it." There was something in his eyes that made his words sound like a dare.

Steve wasn't sure if this was such a good idea.

"Fine," he gave in with a frown.

Well shit, now he's done it.

Bucky watched him with narrowed eyes for a few more seconds before he placed his empty glass down on Steve's coffee table and wandered back into his bedroom. Steve heard the sound of the sheets rustling, and then the light flicking out.

"Oi, Rogers, you'd better not be lying on the couch out there. We had a deal."

Steve hesitated slightly before following Bucky into the bedroom.

He was definitely going to have to apologise profusely to Peggy about this, even if she had no idea he kind of had… _Feelings,_ for Bucky. He just felt wrong about her not knowing. It felt like cheating, even though he would _never_ … Well, that was just it. That was the problem. What really scared him was the thought that if Bucky really _tried_ , he wasn't sure he would to be able to stop himself.

And that alone was enough to make him feel like a piece of shit.

He collapsed down onto the bed beside Bucky, who was already curled up into a ball with the blankets pulled right up to his chin. Steve wormed his way under the sheets with a relaxed sound, before turning into the middle of the bed to face Bucky.

Bucky's face was staring back, only a few inches away, illuminated by the light spilling in from the crack in the door where Steve hadn't quite closed it properly.

"I've got a good taste in men," Bucky murmured sleepily.

Steve felt his cheeks turn scarlet, but before he could think of anything to say in response Bucky's eyes had fluttered closed and his breathing had evened out. Steve lay there for a moment, listening to Bucky's soft breathing, unable to take his eyes off his face.

Bucky looked so much _younger_ when he slept. Like all the horrible things he'd seen and maybe even done were suddenly and temporarily wiped from his memory. Like the events of today hadn't happened.

He looked... Kind of beautiful.

_Shit._

Steve quickly spun around under the covers to face the wall. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears; was that normal?

_I think I'm falling in love with him._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> triggers: cancer, death, kind of graphic death i think of a minor character, strong family emotions


	6. About Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alllllrighty so here's chapter 6, this one is a lot less angsty than the last one, sorry it took me slightly longer to get it up :) if you wanna leave a comment or anything to let me know what you thought of this one then please do, i'd really appreciate any feedback.  
> thanks guys!
> 
> -cat

Bucky was very stressed about a lot of things, but the upcoming parent-teacher day definitely made it into his top 5.

"What if they hate me," Bucky complained into his coffee one morning, sitting slumped over in his chair.

Natasha swung her legs back and forth from where she sat perched on his desk, eyes scrutinizing his classroom. "Who, the parents? James, they won't hate you. Your students all love you, and they're all doing well-"

"Not all of them," Bucky said miserably. "One or two really suck. And I mean it, Nat, they _suck_. At _history_. It's not even _hard_."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Get off your high fucking horse, Barnes, _I_ failed history in high school."

"You don't _count_." Bucky dropped his head onto his desk with a loud clunk. "Do you think I could hire someone to pretend to be me?"

He heard Natasha sigh. "You'll be _fine_ , stop freaking out."

"But Nat, what if-"

"James, I promise, they will love you."

Bucky frowned into his desk. "Some of them won't."

Bucky knew he was being a bit pessimistic. Maybe a bit overdramatic, too, but he'd been having a pretty shit couple of weeks, so wasn't he allowed to exercise this newfound freedom to complain excessively about something relevant and non life-threatening?

_Wasn't he?_

It had been twelve days since his brother had passed away, and nine days since his funeral, and Bucky felt like he was still kind of just going through the motions.

When he'd woken up the day after it had happened in Steve Rogers' bed, with a cup of warm coffee and a piece of toast on the table beside him, he kind of wondered if the last couple of days had been a dream, and he had only just woken up.

But then he heard his brother's voice in the other room, and it all came flooding back.

No such luck.

The next couple of days after that had been a bit of a blur.

Bucky remembered getting his car back from the garage and driving Henry back up to Cobble Hill.

He remembered the tear streaks on his mother's face when she answered the  door, and the empty bottle of Jack Daniels clutched tightly in his dad's hands. 

He remembered giving a speech at Xander's funeral, but he doesn't remember finishing it. From what he'd been told, it was a good speech, right up until the moment when he'd started hysterically laughing and had to be escorted out of the room by his sister.

He assumed, then, after that, he'd gotten drunk, because the rest if the day was lost to him.

He didn't really regret it.

The day after the funeral he'd had to come back to school, which he'd actually been looking forwards too. The hustle and bustle of everyday life was a welcome distraction.

Or at least it _would_ have been, if everyone hadn't been treading on eggshells around him the whole day.

"It ain't the first time I've lost a soldier," he remembered half-joking to Steve and Tony that lunchtime, but the grave and sorrowful expressions he'd received in return hadn't exactly lifted his mood.

" _Why_ is everyone treating me like a child?" He'd snapped finally at Natasha, when he set her up perfectly for a 'that's what she said' joke and she totally let him down. "For god's sake, people! I'm a 29-year-old military ex-sniper, and everyone's acting like I need to be _coddled_ or something. Just cram the fucking bullshit, okay? I'm _fine, Jesus_."

Natasha's lips had drawn together in a firm line, and she'd exchanged a 'secret' worried look with Clint (which Bucky noticed because, hello, he wasn't blind) before saying in a soft voice, "We know, James."

And since then, thank god, things had kind of returned to normal.

Bucky still couldn't sleep at night without being woken up by the imagine of his brother's lifeless body, and sometimes when he passed people in the street he would _swear_ they were Xander, but he was _fine_.

Aside from those things, he was good.

He could go back to worrying about normal people things.

Like if he should spend his monthly paycheck on his brother's student loans, or on a Wii, or maybe a piano, because he wanted to pick that up again.

Like Alexander Pierce's pestering emails.

Like how much of his time he was wasting listening to the same David Bowie album over and over again.

Like how little sleep he was getting.

And, incidentally, the parent-teacher day.

Which was tomorrow.

 _Christ_.

Apparently Natasha had mistaken his thoughtful silence for feeling sorry for himself.

"James Buchanan Barnes, if you don't stop moping about this I will shove this stupid stapler up your fucking ass, so help me god-"

"I like things up my ass," he shot back without really thinking.

"Oh, witty. That's hilarious, James, good one."

"Fuck off," he muttered, but he found his lips twitching into a grin. It was kind of hard to be mad when you were too busy internally thanking someone for being themselves.

"You look tired," Natasha noted, and Bucky could hear the faux-innocence in her tone, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what she was insinuating.

Bucky frowned. "Yeah, Nat, I'm tired. Sue me."

Natasha was rolling her eyes. "Anyway, listen, the reason I came down here wasn't actually to listen to you bitch about your life, it was to ask you out to dinner."

Bucky almost laughed out loud. "Sexual tension finally became too much for you, did it?"

Natasha frowned, absently clicking the stapler still held in her hand. "What?" 

"Unless I'm very much mistaken, Nat, you just asked me out. And I have to say, as much as I love you-"

She snorted. "Oh god. Gross. No offense, Barnes, but you're really not my type."

"I'm crushed."

"I meant like dinner-dinner. Normal people dinner. Tomorrow, after the meetings. With me and Clint. There's a cute new burger place up on 6th and we wanna try it out, if you're up to it."

 _Of course I'm 'up to it',_ Bucky wanted to snap. But he didn't. Instead, his eyebrows began a pilgrimage up to his hairline. "So I have to thirdwheel with you and Barton? To be brutally honest, Natalia, I can definitely think of better ways to try and get me back into the world."

Natasha almost blushed. Almost. "You won't be thirdwheeling, James. Me and Clint aren't together. And I was thinking about maybe asking Steve to come too."

"He won't," Bucky said automatically. That definitely sounded too keen.

Now it was Natasha's turn to raise her perfectly plucked eyebrows. "Why not?"

"It's Peggy's birthday tomorrow. He said he wanted to do something nice."

Natasha frowned. "Oh, right. They're still together then?"

Bucky blinked. "Of course?"

"Oh." Natasha said nothing else.

Bucky almost pressed the subject further, because she seemed to know something that he didn't and that wasn't fair, but at that precise moment his students began to file in for his next and final class of the day.

"Afternoon, Sergeant," came a random male voice from the back of the classroom as the teenagers filled their respective seats.

Natasha rolled her eyes with an unimpressed expression as she left the room.

Bucky immediately got up and gave the kid a high five.

 

*

 

"Just be yourself," Steve suggested for the four hundredth time that morning as Bucky ran himself ragged on the treadmill. "I dunno why you're so stressed about it, you've done these before, right?"

"Well yeah," Bucky huffed, wiping a bead of sweat off his brow with his wrist and watching Steve lean calmly against one of the stationary bikes. "But it was never this formal. They have _food_ at this one. Like, sausages on cocktail sticks and shit. Do you know what we had at EBH? Twizzlers, Steve. They gave you _twizzlers_. And I have to wear a suit here a proper one, with a tie, and I have to know all their grades, and it's just really stressing me out."

Steve snorted, folding his arms, and Bucky slowed his pace down so he could catch his breath after his rant.

"You're nervous because of sausages on cocktail sticks? Buck, come on."

"We couldn't have those at EBH in case the students used them as _weapons_!"

Steve smirked up at him. "Seriously?"

" _Yes_ , seriously! Why do you think I came here in the first place?!"

Steve shrugged, and Bucky slowed to a walk, taking deep breaths.

"Don't over-exert yourself. And I dunno, I kinda figured it was because of that Pierce guy."

Bucky frowned. "How come you know him? Have you been gossiping about me to Natasha? Actually, I _know_ that's true, don't even deny it right now."

Steve gave him a toothy grin, and fucking Christ, it was so cute.

"Maybe I have been, yeah. She just said you were kind of being harassed by him via email."

Bucky shrugged. "I'm handling it." He hopped down off the treadmill.

"Who is he?"

"The principal. Of my last school, I mean, not here obviously. He keeps offering me more and more money to go back and work there."

Bucky felt Steve's eyes on him as he went over to the weights. "How come you don't take it?"

Bucky shrugged again. "I like it here. And he only wants me for my body." He turned to grin cheekily at Steve from over his shoulder. "Unlike some people."

Steve flushed, quickly looking away.

Bucky had discovered that Steve was becoming easier and easier to wind up with his incessant flirting. He was beginning to really enjoy himself, and it was definitely nothing to do with the fact that Bucky kind of loved Steve's blush.

Nothing at all.

What Natasha had said the day before about him and Peggy sprung into mind.

Bucky tried to keep his voice casual as he asked, "So how's Peggy? Today's her birthday, right?"

Steve's face relaxed into a somewhat shy smile, and Bucky felt a bit sick to his stomach. "Yeah, she's turning 26."

Bucky whistled. "Like 'em young, huh?"

Steve blushed again. "Shut up, it's only four years difference."

Bucky grinned. "Pal, I know. Kidding." He reached for a slightly heavier weight than the one he was currently using to work his biceps. "You guys got any plans?"

Steve looked like he was preoccupied with something, because when Bucky glanced up at him he noticed he was looking away with a slight frown.

"Steve? You ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, sorry, just..." He shook his head, "thinking. Um, yeah, I'm gonna cook something. Hopefully nothing goes horribly wrong."

Bucky grinned, ignoring the uncomfortable twisty feeling in his chest. "A certain icing incident comes to mind."

Steve laughed. "Hey, that was on you!"

"Literally, _on_ me. I was covered in it," Bucky deadpanned, and Steve snorted.

"Hey, you know, we haven't done anything fun since I slept with you," Bucky started conversationally, ignoring the choking sound Steve made and plowing on, "we should do something. It's not like a _date_ or anything, don't worry, I just… I feel like I don't know all that much about you. Not that it's made much of a difference, I totally still fancy you anyway, but I feel bad not knowing this shit. Like, what's your favorite band?"

Steve had gone scarlet, and Bucky was definitely shamelessly enjoying it.

"You, um, you still-"

"Like you? Yeah, obviously."

"What about Natasha?"

Bucky raised one eyebrow. "What about her?"

"Aren't you guys...?" Steve made a funny little gesture with his hand, and Bucky found himself letting out a loud snort of laughter.

"Me and _Nat_? No. Steve, no. No way. Oh god, that's so weird."

"Oh," Steve squeaked, cheeks flushing, and it was sosososo adorable Bucky thought his heart might actually melt. "I always thought-"

"Pal, she's like the _only_ person other than you to ever friendzone me."

"Oh." Bucky thought he sounded kind of... Relieved?

It was weird how sweet and innocent this guy seemed; this guy who was definitely bigger and definitely stronger than Bucky himself. Bucky decided that fantasies concerning this particular aspect of Steve's personality were definitely too inappropriate to be thinking about in his presence, even if he _was_ trying to make him a little uncomfortable.

"Favorite band, Steve?" Bucky eventually prompted.

"Coldplay," he half-mumbled, still kind of embarrassed.

"Oh, jeez. Sorry I asked."

"What? What's wrong with Coldplay?"

"Nothing. Favorite song?"

"Don't really have one-"

"Right. Mine's Comfortably Numb; my friend and I used to get high to that when we were in high school. What about your favorite movie?"

"Lord of the Rings, I already told you that."

"Oh, yeah. Well mine are Star Wars, obviously, and Jurassic Park, and Ocean's 11, even thought it kinda sucked-"

"Bucky," Steve interrupted his ramblings with a frown, "what's this about?"

"I want to _know_ you," Bucky insisted, putting the weights he was holding down and going over to where Steve was standing. "I didn't know Xander's favorite movie. Hell, I didn't even know his favorite _colour_. Like, we could literally _die_ in some freak accident tomorrow and I don't want that to happen without knowing who you are."

Steve was staring at him with a crooked smile, and Bucky thought he could almost detect a hint of pity in his gaze.

"Okay."

Oh. He hadn't expected that.

"Okay?"

Steve sighed. "Yes, okay. We should do something. Just not tonight, I'm busy tonight."

Bucky found himself beaming. "Awesome! I just wasted a shitload of money of a Wii a few days ago, wanna come over test it out?"

Steve's smile seemed genuine. "Yeah, Buck, I'd like that. How does Thursday sound?"

Bucky grinned back. "Thursday's great," he agreed. "Around sixish?"

"Six it is."

"You can bring dinner," Bucky teased, brushing his hair back from his face as his eyes took on an impish gleam. 

Steve smirked back. "You like Indian?"

"Awesome," Bucky said again. "Now, um, I should probably go. My first appointment's in forty five minutes and I need to shower first."

Steve snorted. "Good luck doing your tie."

"You know full well that I'll just get someone else to do that for me."

"Yeah, because you're a lazy jerk."

"Oi, punk, you'd better watch it, or I might just cook for you when you come over."

Steve blinked. "How is _that_ a threat?"

"You've never tasted my cooking. Trust me, there's a reason you're bringing dinner."

Steve huffed out a laugh. "It can't be worse than Natasha's."

"I'll leave you to decide that for yourself."

 

*

 

Steve's last appointment with a parent had been at 4:30, and he wasn't supposed to be picking Peggy up until 5, so he decided to walk around the other classrooms for a bit and see what everyone else was up to.

The first place he'd stopped at had been Tony's room, and there was a long queue of very frustrated parents lining up outside to speak to him, while through the doorway Steve could see Tony arguing loudly with a bored-looking Pepper.

He decided to keep moving.

Next on his list was Clint. As he was a librarian, he'd hoped the line wouldn't be too long so he could stop in for a chat, but no such luck. The queue outside the door to the library was, for some reason, almost as long as Tony's, except the parents seemed to be a lot less stressed.

He could try Natasha? As she was a substitute, he sort of assumed that no one would be super interested in talking to her. No offense, Natasha.

He meandered down the hallway with his hands in his pockets, whistling to himself as he had to keep stepping to the side in order to make way for students to walk by with their families.

Eventually he stopped outside Natasha's borrowed classroom, pleased to see that the people she was currently speaking with were the only ones there to see her. He waited patiently until they were done, had shook hands, and had stood to leave before entering the room.

"Hey Tasha," he grinned as he held open the door for the blonde girl and her father to exit. "How's it going?"

"Why are you still here?" The redhead smirked with a raised eyebrow. "James said you had plans with your lady."

"Not until 5," Steve shrugged, sitting on one of the pupil's desks opposite Natasha's. 

"Did you talk to him?"

"Who, Bucky?"

"Mm."

Steve nodded frowning slightly. "Yeah, he came into the gym this morning. Why?"

"Did he seem okay to you?"

"What do you mean?"

Natasha sighed, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm just worried about him, is all. He keeps telling me he's fine, but the last time he did that he was having horrible nightmares that kept him from sleeping-"

"You don't think he's sleeping well?" Steve wished he could hide the sheer amount of genuine concern that was creeping into his voice.

"Have you _seen_ the bags under his eyes?"

"He seemed okay this morning," Steve said slowly, thinking back to their conversation earlier. His cheeks flushed. "We, um, we made plans for Thursday."

Natasha seemed surprised. "You did?"

"Yeah. He threatened to cook."

"Huh." Natasha was nodding slowly. "Okay."

"Something wrong?"

"Nothing, he just... He keeps blowing me off." Natasha looked put out.

Steve couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, well. I wouldn't take it personally, Nat. He's told me a couple of times now that he's got kind of a crush on me." He could feel his cheeks heating even more, but figured it was too late to back out now. "And he said he just bought a Wii."

"And a piano," Natasha nodded. "Yep."

There was a few seconds of silence.

"Can you do me a favour, Steve?"

Steve shrugged. "Sure thing, what's up?"

"Get James to talk to you. Get him drunk, do whatever you gotta do, just… He has to open up. He's gotta talk to someone about what's going through that thick fucking skull of his. And he sure as hell ain't talking to me, but I'm willing to bet he'll talk to you if you approach it right."

Steve felt oddly touched. "I'll sure do my best."

"You're not messing him about, are you Steve?"

For a long second, Steve was actually offended. He wanted to frown and ask how dare she, because he wasn't that kind of guy, but the more he thought about it...

"I think... Unintentionally... I might be a little bit," he admitted slowly, avoiding the Russian's gaze. "But not in the way you're thinking, Tasha, because-"

"Steve." Her words weren't sharp, or mean, but they were very pointed, and Steve _definitely_ got the message to shut the hell up. "Look. James doesn't 'like' people. He fucks them, sure, but he doesn't often care. And he's going through a bit of a sensitive time right now. So maybe until you've got your priorities figured out, you should just... Y'know... Not."

Steve frowned. "Priorities?"

"Peggy, Rogers. You're dating someone."

"I think I might be falling in love with him," Steve couldn't help but announce, and then immediately afterwards he felt like the world's biggest asshole just for _saying_ that.

Natasha just stared at him. "Jesus, this is like being on a soap opera. Don't you think you should _probably_ break up with your girlfriend if you're in love with someone else? For all of your sakes?"

"I can't dump her on her birthday," Steve mumbled, covering his face in his hands. "I'm a terrible person."

"Yeah," Natasha agreed, "but it's _James_. He's a total ass. You two deserve eachother."

Steve felt a small, feminine hand gently squeeze his shoulder. "Steve. You're not helping anyone but staying with Peggy. You should let her go before it's too late."

"Yeah," Steve said in a small voice. "I know. But Nat, it's not just that-"

Natasha groaned exasperatedly. "Oh god, what now."

"I, um... I've never actually _dated_ a guy before."

Natasha was staring at him again. "How's about we just cross that bridge when we come to it, Rogers."

Steve cleared his throat. "Yes ma'am."

"And also, if I were you, I'd go bring James some coffee. I happened to walk by his room earlier and he looked like he was going to pass out."

"Noted."

"He takes-"

"I know how he takes his coffee," Steve interrupted, before cringing as he realized how defensive he'd sounded. "I mean-"

"Uhuh," Natasha said sceptically, and Steve dropped his hands just in time to see her roll her eyes. "Just, don't let this fucked up Peggy-or-Barnes thing go on for too long, okay? It's weird and totally not fair on either of them. Your life is a mess."

"I know," Steve said miserably.

"So sort it. Now get out, I've got people."

She was right; a woman with two dark-haired boys on either side of her was waiting patiently in the doorway.

"Thanks, Natasha," Steve sighed as he wandered from the room, offering the harried-looking mother a smile.

He headed up the staff room immediately after checking his watch and realizing he had another fifteen minutes before he was supposed to meet Peggy. He mixed Bucky a coffee- black with two sugars; sinful- before going down the stairs and making his way to Bucky's classroom.

He kept trying to push thoughts about his relationship with Peggy out of his head, but they just kept springing back in like irritating little monkeys.

Natasha the Dragon Lady had been right. He really needed to sort his life out.

"Hey Buck," he sighed as he entered the dark-haired man's classroom, pleased that there was currently no one who wanted to talk to him.

Bucky had his head buried in his hands, but as soon as he heard Steve's voice he was sitting upright again, brushing back his hair with both hands, clearing his throat.

"Yeah, hey St- is that coffee?"

"You bet."

"For me?"

"Maybe."

"Black, two sugars?"

Steve just grinned, placing the cup down on Bucky's desk, and the other man immediately snatched it up again. 

"I could _kiss_ you right now, Steve, I really could," Bucky sighed happily as he lifted the warm mug to his lips.

"Better not; I can't take all the credit," Steve admitted resentfully. "Natasha sent me. She worries."

"She did, did she?" Bucky hummed almost absently. "And she told you how I like my coffee?"

"Well, no, that part was me."

Bucky let out a frankly indecent groan, closing his eyes as he poured more of the dark liquid into his mouth.

"Tastes so crap but also so good... You know my coffee order?"

Steve nodded.

"Then yeah. I could still kiss you."

Steve felt his cheeks flush, and damn, he sure seemed to be doing a lot of that recently. "Maybe later."

Bucky turned his sparkling gaze up to Steve, a teasing grin playing at his lips. "Any idea when?"

Steve was too stunned by the look in his eyes to reply at the appropriate time. Instead, he left a couple of seconds of awkward silence, before he finally opened his mouth-

"Excuse me, Sergeant? Are you busy ?"

Bucky's eyes switched to the door, where a tall boy with brown hair was standing in between two slightly older people.

"Peter," he exclaimed happily, immediately getting to his feet. "Of course not, come on in. Hi; James Barnes, you must be Peter's aunt and uncle, it's a pleasure..."

The transformation in him was astounding.

As Steve got up to leave he couldn't help but watch as Bucky's persona completely changed. He went from being kind of graceful in a lazy, flirty way to being completely upright, professional, charming. The teasing sparkle in his eyes was replaced by a look of polite interest.

Bucky shook hands with Peter's relatives and invited them to sit down, shooting Steve a wink as he turned to close the door behind him.

"Thanks for the coffee, pal. I'll see you Thursday."

"See you," Steve responded automatically, and then the door to Bucky's classroom was being gently closed in front of him.

 

*

 

Bucky only realized his watch was slow when he heard the knock at his apartment door fifteen minutes before he was expecting to.

He'd literally only _just_ got out of the shower, hair still dripping wet and little droplets of water still trailing down the skin of his back. He just about had time to tug on a pair of jeans, because pants were important, but he didn't bother with boxers because to hell with those. He could use this colossal fuck-up with his watch to his advantage.

He was going to tease the _shit_ out of Steve Rogers.

He now had a master plan. A master plan involving wet skin, his favorite, worn, low-riding jeans and a lack of underwear. 

He wasn't blind. He knew he was attractive. And he knew what _other_ people found attractive. And he _definitely_ knew that topless, muscled(ish) guys with damp messy hair and army tattoos and stupid smiles were _really_ attractive. So, he figured, why not?

Bucky slid off the chain as pulled open the door, grinning brightly up at Steve. "Hey pal, sorry, I'm running a little late. Watch is slow. Come on in."

Steve just nodded silently, staring at him with his mouth slightly open, arms full of takeout boxes.

Bucky counted that as a win.

"Um, where should I put these?" Steve asked with a pointed look at the food in his arms.

"Thank god, I'm starving; um, the kitchen table's just fine.

Bucky watched as Steve dumped the boxes unceremoniously on the rickety wooden table, trying not to focus on the way he could see each individual muscle flex through the thin fabric of his tight, long-sleeved shirt-

"Hey, I didn't know you had a piano. Has that always been there?"

Bucky shook his head, following Steve's gaze over to the secondhand Yamaha piano sitting in the middle of the room. "No, I only bought that the other day. I'm having a midlife crisis at 29."

Steves lips twitched into a gorgeous grin. "I didn't know you played."

Bucky found himself smiling back. "Not for a while now. I was kinda hoping to pick it up again."

"Cool," Steve said with an appreciative nod, and he didn't even sound like he was _pretending_ to be interested. He sounded like he _was_. Bucky kind of adored him for it.

Suddenly, he felt weird being half naked.

"I'm gonna just, uh, grab a shirt, then we can eat?"

"Sounds good," Steve nodded, and Bucky quickly disappeared into his bedroom, snatching up the first thing he saw- a faded Jimi Hendrix tee- and tugging it on.

When he emerged a few seconds later he found Steve unpacking the boxes- so many boxes- of various different types of curries.

It smelled amazing.

"Are you sure you bought enough?" Bucky laughed, only half teasing as he padded barefoot into the kitchen to retrieve plates and cutlery. "Because that smells seriously good and I haven't eaten since breakfast-"

"You shouldn't skip meals," Steve said reproachfully, but when Bucky looked up at him he noticed his teasing grin. 

"You're not my mother," Bucky replied with an immature hand gesture.

Steve just laughed.

"You want a drink or something?"

"I'd love a beer, if you've got one."

"No problem."

The pair ate mostly in silence, with a Netfix episode of _Whose Line is it Anyway?_ playing quietly in the background on Bucky's super crappy TV.

"This is so good," Bucky moaned through a huge mouthful of naan bread after about five minutes, staring in awe up at Steve. "Where did you get this from?!"

Steve shrugged, grinning back at him. "Some little place by my building; like, two blocks over? I'd never actually been before, I'm so freaking glad it's not crap."

"So am I," Bucky just about managed around his food. "Good choice." He swallowed, then yawned, covering his mouth with one hand. "I'm not even a huge fan of Indian-"

"Bucky," Steve interrupted, like something was on his mind, and Bucky looked up at him with a confused frown.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Have you been sleeping okay?"

Bucky groaned, dropping his face into one hand. "Not you, too-"

"Natasha's worried," Steve pressed, leaning forwards slightly and eyeing Bucky intently. "And she's charged me with the task of finding out what's up."

" _Nothing's_ up, I'm fine-"

"Bullshit."

Bucky sighed. "Steve, really. It's nothing. Just a couple rough nights, okay? It happens. I can handle it. Back off."

Steve held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "Okay," he said after a few seconds, "okay."

They returned to a comfortable silence as they resumed eating; or, as Bucky resumed inhaling the food, and Steve just poked at it thoughtfully with his fork. It wasn't until Bucky finally ran out of stomach space and slumped back in his chair contentedly that Steve spoke up again.

"Hey Buck, you said we should get to know each other better, right? That's why I'm here?" 

Bucky turned to smirk up at him.

"Yeah, you got something you wanna share?"

"Well, not exactly, but I feel like I might after I've had a bit more to drink." Steve had a somewhat resigned expression on his face as he asked, "You got anything stronger than beer?"

Bucky grinned widely, getting to his feet. " _Now_ you're talking."

Half a bottle of vodka and three rage-filled tournaments of Mario Kart later, things had eased up slightly between them.

"NO," Bucky screeched as Donkey Kong hit him from behind with a red shell, causing him to flip sideways into the lava. "FUCKING-"

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by Steve's yell of victory as he sped across the finish line, grinning widely as he turned to Bucky and jabbed him in the chest with one finger. " _HA_."

"I hate this game," Bucky said miserably.

"Tough, we've still got another three races before this tournament is over," Steve said happily. "And since I'm the guest-"

"I hate this game, and I hate you."

Steve just grinned charmingly back. "You don't, you love me." He pressed 'next race' with his controller.

Bucky resigned himself to another crushing defeat. He really sucked at this game.

After being completely annihilated at Mario Kart for the fourth time, Bucky decided to introduce Steve to Game of Thrones.

The plot was a little complicated to explain in his somewhat-drunken state, but he gave it his best shot.

"It's about these kings- no, wait, there's one king, sorry- it's about these families, right, and they all want the throne- well, not all of them- and it kinda follows this one family called Stark-"

"Like Tony!"

"Yeah, like Tony- and there's loads of them, and like in the first episode the kid brother gets pushed out of a tower because he sees the queen fucking her brother."

Steve blinked, eyes going wide. "There's incest in episode one?"

"Half the show is incest, Steve. The other half is brutal murder."

"Is it good?"

"Oh my god, _so_ good."

"Are we gonna watch it?"

Bucky's lips twitched into a grin. "Do you wanna?"

Steve smiled dopily back as he nodded. "I'm curious now, damn it."

"Awesome! It should be on Netflix, lemme have a look."

Fifteen minutes later they were both settled comfortably on the couch watching the pilot episode; Steve sitting cross-legged and Bucky with his feet stretched out into Steve's lap, head resting on the arm rest.

Bucky wasn't drunk enough yet to ask the question that had been bugging him all night, but he was slowly beginning to lose himself in the warm fuzzy feeling that tipsiness provided, and the comfort and familiarity of being in his home coupled with Steve's presence just heightened his feeling of contentedness. He hadn't felt this good since October at the very least.

"Bucky?" Steve was suddenly saying, and Bucky forced himself to prop himself up on his elbows, glancing up at Steve. 

"Yeah?"

"I think I like Arya the best."

Bucky grinned. "Arya's totally the best."

"She takes no shit from anyone," Steve agreed with a nod and a little sigh. He sunk further into the cushions, and Bucky found himself smiling as he watched a relaxed expression take over his face. 

Bucky hadn't lied. He wanted to get to know Steve. He fancied the hell out of him, and he had done for a while, and he probably would for a little while more, but he hardly knew anything about him. He knew both his parents were dead, and that he took his coffee with milk, and that he had stronger views on social justice than just about anyone else Bucky had ever met, but he didn't _know_ him. He didn't know which movies made him laugh and which made him cry, or what he'd wanted to grow up to be as a child, or what foods he liked to eat when he was sick. He didn't know his birthday, or his star sign, or his middle name. He didn't know his favourite joke, or type of fruit, or pizza topping.

And he _wanted_ to.

"Hey Steve?"

"Mm?"

"Tell me something about you that I don't already know."

Steve blinked up at Bucky, an adorable wrinkle of confusion in his forehead. "Huh?"

Bucky wriggled around a bit on the couch, sliding his feet off Steve's lap and curling his knees into his chest as he sat up. "Like I said before, I wanna get to know you. So, if you tell me one random thing about you then I'll answer with a random thing about me. Deal?"

Steve practically beamed. "Yeah, okay. Deal. I go first?"

Bucky's face split into a grin. "Yeah. If that's okay."

"It's okay; uhhh, I like to draw. Sometimes. It's kind of like a hobby."

"Are you any good?" Bucky questioned, leaning forwards slightly, and Steve smiled and looked away, as if he were embarrassed.

"I'm okay," he said modestly, and Bucky just laughed.

"You're probably a million times better than me."

"Not by that much," Steve chuckled with a shake of his head.

"Could you show me some time, maybe?"

Steve's smile brightened, and god, if Bucky had known before that drawing was what gave him that air of someone who lights up when they talk about something they're really passionate about then he would've brought it up months ago.

"Okay. If you want."

"I'm actually kinda mad, Steve. You can't be hot _and_ talented. That's not fair."

Steve grinned back at him. "I can't play piano though. Come on; your turn. I'm looking forwards to hearing all these army stories, Buck, don't let me down."

And so they talked.

Bucky learned that Steve's middle name was Grant, and his birthday was July 4th, and he loved strawberries, and nothing but cheese on his pizza, and cheerios for breakfast. He discovered that they went to the same nursery when they were kids, missing each other by a year.

He learned that Steve's father had been army, too, and had actually fought in the same battalion that Bucky had done, years later. He learned that he'd died fighting. He learned that Steve hated bullies, and he'd been a skinny little punk of a kid, always getting into fights and being completely battered up by the bigger guys. A flash of anger had coursed through him at that one, because the thought of anyone picking on Steve made him feel a bit sick to the stomach, but he reminded himself that Steve was okay, that he'd got himself through it. But he still wished he could've helped him out.

Bucky insisted that they would've been friends through high school, but Steve waved it off with a laugh.

"You would've been way too cool for me," Steve only half joked. "I bet everyone loved you."

"Are you kidding? I was super chubby until I was about sixteen. Then things got a bit better."

Steve snorted. "A bit," he echoed sarcastically, giving Bucky a quick once-over. "Right."

Bucky grinned widely at him. "Did you just check me out?"

"Of _course_ not, Buck. I wouldn't _objectify_ you like that. C'mon, it's your turn to answer."

And so in return, Bucky told Steverandom facts about _him_. He told him about his obsession with comic books as a teenager, and how he'd thought he was in love with Natasha when they'd met, and how she'd almost broken his nose when he asked her out on a date. He told him his favorite colour (green) and book (Gatsby, duh) and word (androgynous). 

Another few shots and ten minutes later the conversation had dissolved into rapid-fire facts.

"I wanted to be a fireman," Steve hiccuped with a giggle. Bucky couldn't help but think that he'd be a hot fireman.

"I wanted to be the president."

"I didn't lose my virginity until I was twenty."

Bucky smiled. "I was sixteen."

"Regret it?"

"No, not really." 

"Girl or boy?"

Bucky giggled. "Girl. I had some issues accepting my sexuality when I was a teenager. It wasn't until I joined the army that I just gave in."

Steve laughed. "Seems a bit backwards, doesn't it? Considering the policy?"

"I was discreet."

"I bet you weren't."

Bucky snorted. "You're right."

"The first person I ever came out to was my mom," Steve explained with a vague smile, "when I was probably about fifteen. I was terrified."

"How did she respond?"

"Oh, it was a huge cliche. 'It doesn't matter to me, Steven, I love you no matter what, you should know that' etcetera."

"That's nice," Bucky nodded, "that she was so good about it. I've never told my family. None of them know."

"Who was the first person you told ?"

Bucky smiled, leaning his head on one of the cushions and staring sideways up at Steve. "My friend. James Morita. You met him."

"I did?"

"Mm. Well, I didn't really _tell_ him. He sort of guessed. He just said he didn't give a shit who I wanted to screw as long as I could keep my eyes off his ass long enough to save it." Bucky found himself grinning. "Jimmy's the best."

"You're both called James," Steve pointed out, smiling goofily down into his glass. "Weird."

"Dude, in the Howling Commandos, like _three_ of us were called James. That's part of the reason why I'm Bucky now."

"What's the other part?"

Bucky shrugged. "My grandad was James. Feels weird, you know?"

"Yeah," Steve agreed, "I know."

There was a slight lapse in the conversation.

Then, at the exact same time, both of them began to talk.

"Bucky, I gotta tell-"

"How was your-"

They both stopped, staring at eachother, before collapsing into giggles.

"Sorry," Bucky laughed, "you go first."

"No, you first."

"You sure?"

Steve nodded vehemently. "Mhm!"

Bucky smiled. "Okay; just, how was your date with Peggy for her birthday? I only just realized I forgot to even ask."

The corners of Steve's lips quirked upwards slightly in a private smile. Bucky wondered what was so amusing. "Yeah, it was good... That was actually kind of what I wanted to talk to you about."

Bucky raised his eyebrows, giving Steve a goofy grin that definitely wouldn't have made it past his 'good ideas to make Steve find him attractive' filter in his brain if he wasn't slightly drunk right now. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Steve confirmed. He paused for a moment, fiddling with a loose thread on one of Bucky's couch cushions, before saying, "we kind of broke up."

 _Holy shit, about time_.

"Oh," was all Bucky could think to say in his current state, brain a little fuzzy with surprise, alcohol, and something that felt a bit like hope. "What happened?"

"I… I felt a bit like I was lying to her. Or cheating on her. Or both." Steve scratched the back of his head, avoiding Bucky's gaze.

_Cheating on her? With who?_

Bucky knew it wasn't his place to ask. Instead he just squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "Oh," he said again, feeling like an idiot. "Did she take it okay?"

"She was upset, but when I explained everything she seemed to understand," Steve said quietly. "She's a strong person, Peggy is. She's a _good_ person. I didn't want to hurt her."

"And did you?"

"I think I might've done. But it was only ever gonna get worse, if…" he trailed off with a long sigh. "Anyway. Yeah. We broke up."

"I'm… Sorry. I think."

One corner of Steve's mouth twitched into a small smile. "Don't be. It's my fault I got into such a mess in the first place.

"Probably," Bucky agreed without thinking, and Steve barked out a laugh.

"You're my _friend_ , Buck, _come on_ , you're supposed to say something like, 'oh no, Steve of _course_ it wasn't your fault'-"

Bucky found himself grinning. "It was your fault though, wasn't it? That's what _you_ said. That it _was_."

"Yeah, but you're supposed to say it wasn't!"

"So I'm supposed to _lie_?"

Steve snorted. "Bucky,  _Jesus_."

"What about him?"

Steve laughed as he punched him in the leg. "Shuddup already, god, are you always this annoying?"

"I'm not god, I dunno why you're asking _me_ -"

"I will punch you in your face," Steve threatened playfully with a wicked grin.

"Go on then." Bucky smirked at him. "Punch the only man in this room trained in military hand-to-hand combat. I dare you."

Bucky let out an embarrassingly feminine squeal as Steve launched himself at him from the other end of the couch.

Bucky got to his feet as Steve made a grab for his wrists, darting behind the couch as the other man quickly stood up, smirking.

"I thought you were trained in hand-to-hand. You just screamed like a six year old."

"I was a sniper," Bucky shot back, "I tended to skip the hand-to-hand."

"How unfortunate," Steve laughed, before practically diving over the couch and managing to grab one of Bucky's arms as he turned to duck, preventing him from running off.

"Cheater!" Bucky yelled as Steve managed to get him into a headlock from behind, pulling him back over the back of the couch.

Bucky was laughing as he collapsed over the hard back of the sofa onto his side, half on Steve's lap and half on the floor, Steve's arms still wrapped around him like  a monkey.

"Get offa me!"

"No way."

" _Steve!_ This is emasculating!"

Steve laughed, hugging Bucky tighter as he squirmed in his arms. "Tough."

"Ugh. I hate you."

"No you don't."

"I do! I fucking hate you."

Steve was grinning at him as he managed to frown up at him, twisting in his arms.

"You're a dick."

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"Oh, Stevie, this mouth's been in _way_ worse places." 

The innuendo came out almost accidentally, and as soon as the words left his lips Bucky was cringing internally, smacking himself repeatedly in the brain with a metaphorical chair.

_Fucking Christ, Barnes, keep it together..._

"I'm sure it has," Steve was teasing back like nothing had happened, and Bucky fought back the urge to let out a sigh of relief.

"Oh, it has."

"Care to tell me where?"

Bucky smirked. "It's classified."

Steve grinned at him like the dork he was, and Bucky felt his heart do a weird little flop in his chest.

"Tell me in Russian, then." 

Bucky snorted. "Still classified, Steve. It's still classified in Russian."

Steve shot Bucky a mock-pout that went straight to his groin.

"That's a shame."

Bucky finally managed to worm his way out of Steve's grip, curling up at the other end of the couch with a victorious grin.

"I'm free!"

"You're such a child."

"Hey, rude! I'm older than you, I think."

"You're 29, so am I."

"Yeah, but my birthday's before yours."

"When's your birthday?"

Bucky grinned. "You'll only forget if I tell you."

"I won't, I promise!"

"You totally will, you're kinda drunk. Uhh, it's February 2nd."

"I'll remember," Steve promised him with a huge smile, and Bucky found himself grinning back.

"Yeah, okay. Sure you will."

Another two hours later and they were still on the couch; Bucky resting his head in Steve's lap, face turned so he could watch the crappy late night television. They had turned the lights off some time ago, and the only thing illuminating the room was the constant glow of the TV as Antiques Roadshow played for the third episode running. The alcohol had pretty much worn off by now, so both men were pretty much sober, but the warm glow Bucky had felt a few hours earlier was still floating around in his chest.

"Why can't we put something else on Netflix," Steve complained, but Bucky just impatiently smacked his hand away from the remote.

"No, I'm watching this."

"But _Bucky_ -" 

"Look, he's just about to price it."

"Buck, I don't _wanna_ watch Antiques-"

"Too bad, Steve, you can kiss my ass because we're watching this."

Steve huffed in annoyance, absently swiping at the back of Bucky's head from behind. "Is this what it would be like being married to you?"

"You're just gonna have to wait and see."

"If we ever get married, I'm gonna need my own TV."

Bucky turned around to grin up at Steve from his lap. "Don't we kind of need to date or something first? Unless you just wanna straight-out propose to me right now."

"Eh, I dunno, it's all moving a bit fast," Steve teased back. "I mean, I _did_ just break up with my girlfriend for you-"

"You did what?"

Steve frowned. "I broke up with Peggy; I _literally_ told you that like three hours ago, Buck."

"Yeah, but you didn't say it was 'cause of me," Bucky pointed out, sitting up and watching Steve with a slight frown as he crossed his legs, bumping his knee against Steve's thigh. "You said you were cheating on her, right? And unless I've got some kind of memory loss or something, I'm _pretty_ sure we never-"

"No," Steve agreed, "we didn't, but…" His cheeks had flushed scarlet, and he ducked his head down, swallowing, like he was trying to buy himself some time."I kinda, like, I like you, a bit. And I felt like I wasn't being fair to her. Or me. Or you."

Bucky nodded slowly, tilting his head slightly to the side so he could see Steve's face better in the shallow stream of light from the TV. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Right."

Steve let out a small huff of a laugh, brushing a hand through his hair. "Mmhm."

He looked so uncomfortable and sweet and charming that Bucky almost couldn't help the laugh that escaped his mouth.

"Are you gonna ask me out, then?"

Steve snorted. "I might."

"Well, I'm waiting."

Steve grinned at him, and Bucky could see that his cheeks were still slightly pink even in the dim light thrown over them from the television.

"Bucky, do you wanna go out with me some time? Properly?"

"Yep," Bucky said happily, popping the 'p'. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Steve snorted with laughter, shaking his head in amusement. "So this is it, huh? We're gonna date or something now?"

"Hopefully, Steve, we're gonna do a bit more than 'date'."

"Jeez, someone's a little optimistic," Steve teased, and Bucky laughed, lightly punching his arm.

"More like _realistic_. I know you were checking me out when I answered the door earlier."

"Just out of curiosity, were you wearing underwear?"

"Nope."

"I knew it." 

Bucky laughed, and it felt like something had loosened in his chest; something he hadn't even realised was bothering him was suddenly gone. It felt like a weight had lifted.

"So, uhh, does Saturday work?"

Bucky ducked away so Steve couldn't see his stupid sappy smile. "Um, yeah. Saturday's… Saturday's great."

"There's this new burger place down on-"

"Sixth," Bucky finished with a grin, remembering his conversation with Natasha a few days earlier. "Yeah, I've heard it's good."

"Meet you there at seven?"

"Seven it is."

"Okay," Steve hummed with a toothy grin, tongue darting out to wet his lips before he turned his attention back to the TV. "Cool."

Bucky grinned widely, biting down painfully on his bottom lip in an attempt to stem the very much inappropriate thoughts he was currently experiencing. "Why the sudden interest in Antiques Roadshow, huh?"

Steve snorted. "You can suck my dick, Bucky, you asshole."

Bucky shrugged as he slid off the couch and onto his knees on the floor in front of Steve, smirking up at him as he reached for his belt. "Well, if you insist," he smirked, flicking an eyebrow up at Steve as he stared back with a shocked expression on his face.

" _Bucky!!_ " Steve squeaked as he tugged open his belt buckle, diving over to the other end of the couch. His cheeks were bright red, and he looked like he was three seconds away from having a minor heart attack and possibly an aneurism.

"What?" Bucky was laughing as he hauled himself back up onto the couch, holding his arms up innocently. "You started it."

"We haven't even gone on our _date_ yet, _jesus_!" Steve rushed to do up his belt again with shaking fingers, and Bucky couldn't help but find the entire thing completely hilarious.

"Sorry," he choked out through his laughter, one hand clutching at his chest. "I just had to… Your _face_ …"

"You're a horrible person."

"You and I _both_ know that you want me to suck your dick."

"Not _right now,_ " Steve squeaked indignantly.

Bucky actually wiped a tear of laughter out of the corner of his eye. "That was… Ahaha…"

"I'm telling Natasha."

Bucky stopped laughing immediately. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, but I would. I'll tell her you tried to sexually assault me."

"She wouldn't believe you," Bucky argued.

"Wanna risk it? She seems like the kind of girl who would literally shoot you in the dick."

"Well, you're not wrong."

"… Why do I get the impression that she's done that bef-"

"Trust me, Stevie, you don't wanna ask that question."

Steve chuckled, twisting his back around until Bucky could hear a loud click. He yawned, then repeated the motion to his other side. "What's the time?"

Bucky checked his watch. "Almost 1."

"In the morning?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "No, Steve, in the afternoon. Jesus."

Steve stuck his tongue out at him, then got to his feet. "I, um, I should probably head home. Y'know, work tomorrow and all that."

Bucky nodded his agreement as he stood up. "Yeah. Thanks for coming over, Steve, I had a good time."

Steve grinned at him as he grabbed his coat from the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "So did I. Are you gonna come into the gym tomorrow?"

"Yes," Bucky said immediately, before cringing at his own eagerness to answer the dumb fucking question. "Uhh, yes. But I think Nat wanted to come too. She's been up my ass recently about how we don't spend enough time together."

"She's a good friend," Steve said with a slight smile.

"Yeah," Bucky agreed with a chuckle. "She is."

They stood in silence for a moment, looking at each other, as Steve hovered by the door.

"So, um… I should…"

"Yeah…" Bucky nodded, gesturing to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"For sure."

"Right."

Steve wet his lips with his tongue. "Right."

Another few seconds of silence, where they just stared at each other, before both men's expressions broke out in grins.

"This is weird now, isn't it."

"A little weird."

"See you tomorrow?"

"Later, pal."

Steve grinned. "Later." He slid out the door, which clicked shut behind him.

As soon as Bucky was sure Steve was out of earshot, he made a grab for his phone.

Natasha picked up on the third ring.

"For real? James, it's 1 in the morning, _why_ are you calling-"

"Steve just left," he explained with a grin as he vaulted over the back of the couch and landed in the cushions with his legs crossed. "We're going to dinner on Saturday night. On a date. A proper one."

Natasha's excited squeal nearly burst his eardrum.

" _No way!"_

"Yep, seriously." Bucky felt like his face was going to split in half with the sheer force of his smile. "To that burger place you talked about."

"Oh, so you won't go with me, but as soon as _Steve_ wants to go-"

Bucky snorted. "Nat, that is so not the point."

He heard his friend's long-suffering sigh on the other end of the line.

"I'm happy for you," she said finally, and she really did sound it- although it was kinda hard to tell through the sleepiness in her tone. "Does this mean you'll quit being so sulky now?"

"I'm never sulky," Bucky argued.

"You've been _unbearably_ sulky the last couple weeks, James."

"Have not."

"Have too! Anyways, I'm taking you out to lunch tomorrow to celebrate."

"But Nat, I've only got an hour tomorrow, I'm teaching both fourth and fifth periods."

"That's ok, we'll just go to a cafe or someplace. But you gotta tell me _everything_."

Bucky grinned, chewing on his thumbnail. "I will."

"This is seriously cute."

" _Right?"_

"I mean, I knew he broke up with Peggy, but I didn't expect him to ask you on a date so soon."

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "You knew?"

He could hear her laugh. "Of course I knew, James, I know everything."

"Why am I even surprised."

"Hey James, I gotta go. You should get some sleep. We still on for the gym tomorrow morning?"

"I can't sleep, are you kidding? I might go for a run or something, burn off all the excitement hormones. I'm so fucking pumped right now. And yeah, of course we are," Bucky nodded. 

He heard a rustle in the background on Natasha's end of the line, and then something that sounded like a man's voice.

Bucky's eyes widened in surprise, and his lips spread into a wide, wicked smirk. "Nat, is someone with you?"

" _Please_ try and get _some_ sleep, James."

" _Nat!_ Who's with you?!"

"And don't forget about lunch tomorrow! Bye, love you!"

" _Natalia!_ Who're you with right now, I _demand_ you tell me!"

"Byeee!"

" _Nat!"_


	7. The Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guysssss your comments on the last chapter were all so nice!!! :D thank you so much, it really does mean the world to me to hear that you guys like the story.  
> fyi: mild tfios spoilers in this chapter if you haven't read it/seen the movie :P  
> alsooo this chapter contains some slurs that are considered offensive so please keep that in mind when reading
> 
> -cat

"Have you thought any more about what you're gonna wear on your date tonight yet?"

"Natalia, we've been through this. I'm not answering _any_ of your questions until you tell me who you're sleeping with."

Natasha glared at him from over the top of her vanilla mocha with whipped cream in a Starbucks cup, because she was secretly a sugar addict. She sometimes liked to pretend in front of people that she didn't like sweet drinks, but Bucky knew better and apparently so did Clint, so this time she'd just given up.

"I don't have to tell you anything, Barnes. Nothing."

Bucky just narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her, placing his book- _The Fault In Our Stars_ , because Darcy had recommended it, god knows why- down on the table and pressing his fingertips together.

"I _will_ find out."

"Espionage was never your strongest asset."

"I will, Nat. I _will_."

"This is ridiculous," Clint was complaining from the couch, rubbing at his face with the hand that wasn't covered in gunpowder residue. "Will you guys just shut up already? We've been talking about this for almost the entire day. We missed _lunch_ because of this conversation."

Bucky shot him an incredulous look, pointing at Natasha. "She's _lying_ to me, Barton! To my _face_!"

"I haven't lied to you!"

"You've lied by _omission_ ," Bucky dismissed with a wave of his hand, "and that's not the point! The point is that I tell you everything and now you're keeping secrets."

"Jesus Christ," Clint groaned, and Natasha just spoke over him.

"James I swear to god, if you don't let this go, I will incapacitate you and then do some truly horrible things to your paralysed body."

Bucky frowned, snatching his book back up again. "Until you grow some balls and tell me who you're screwing, I'm not talking to you."

Natasha let out an exasperated sigh. "You'll break, I know you will. You wanna talk about Steve too bad."

Bucky ignored her, turning back to his book.

The three of them were actually sitting in Bucky's living room, which at present stunk of gunpowder and chemicals.

Barton had claimed the couch for himself and was now sitting perched directly in the center, with a partially disassembled Desert Eagle .44 Magnum sitting on a cloth in his lap. He held another oil-stained cloth in his hand and was continuing to pull apart the gun in his hands with the intention of cleaning it out.

Natasha and Bucky were sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table, Bucky with his book and Natasha with a Starbucks. Things had been touchy between them for the entire day, and Bucky was getting the impression that Clint was getting particularly fed up.

There was, in fact, a reason _why_ they were all in Bucky's apartment at 4:30 in the afternoon on a Saturday, and why Barton was disassembling a semi-automatic weapon in his living room.

Earlier that day, they had driven up into the city to Westside Rifle and Pistol Range for a bit of 'friendly competition', as Natasha had called it.

"All the army brats back together again," she had said happily, the two men rolling their eyes at the floor as she dragged them into the weapons locker by their respective forearms. "We should start a club at school."

Soon enough they were standing lined up in a row, each armed with a pistol- Clint and Bucky each owned theirs, but Natasha had borrowed. She claimed it was because she didn't approve of civilians owning guns, but Bucky knew it was just because she knew a hundred and one _other_ ways to murder a person.

It was there, lined up in front of their targets, that Bucky had decided to start pestering her about her new mystery man.

Natasha had refused to say anything on the subject, and had threatened on multiple occasions to shoot Bucky in the you-know-where.

And then things had gotten competitive, and due to their constant arguing, both had lost a bit of their usual laser focus.

This meant that Clint had eventually taken the lead with two points more than Natasha, and one more than Bucky's total of 48/50 perfect shots.

Bucky had thought Natasha was going to cry.

The ride back to Bucky's place had been uncomfortable, to say the least. Barton had called shotgun, so he sat in the front next to Bucky and complained the entire way back about it being too late to grab some lunch. Natasha had been silent and stony-faced in the backseat, and whenever Clint had tried to talk to her she simply ignored him, because Natasha was a child and refused to admit that she wasn't a perfect shot after all.

She'd actually reached around his seat to punch him hard in the arm when he pointed this out to her. And then she'd complained because they both smelled strongly of gunpowder, and she hated that smell, and this was all their fault, which it _totally wasn't_.

Then she'd made them stop at Starbucks, because she wanted a 'coffee'- and seriously, the sugar-filled milky garbage that she was drinking at present definitely did _not_ count as coffee. Clint had asked her to grab him a decaf cappuccino, and when she'd come back having 'accidentally' ordered caffeinated he'd made no large effort to hide his irritation.

Eventually however they'd made it back to Bucky's apartment in one piece, and Clint had decided that for revenge for Nat's coffee stunt it was definitely time to clean his gun. In Bucky's living room. On a Saturday.

Natasha _still_ hadn't told him who she was sleeping with.

And, on top of that, Augustus Waters had just died.

Bucky was having an exceptionally  _terrible_ day.

On the bright side, though, his date with Steve was tonight, and he had a good feeling about it. His hair wasn't being stupid today, and he'd called his brother that morning to check in, and everything seemed fine. He'd made Henry promise not to let his parents call him that evening; although, when Henry had asked why, Bucky may have lied and said he had a meeting. Admitting to a date seemed like a door he didn't quite yet want his parents to shove forcefully open.

He wasn't sure what he was going to wear yet, though- and really, he _did_  want Nat's advice on that.

 _Damn her_.

Bucky let out a long, pained sigh, closing his eyes as he dropped his book back down on the table and pressed his fingers to his temple. "Okay, Nat, fine. You win. Damn it, I don't know what to wear."

Natasha gave him a smug grin as she hopped lightly to her feet with a grace that Bucky would never master. "Told you so. Come on, we'll find you something."

"The pair of you are _ridiculous_ ," Clint half-yelled from his position on the couch when Natasha pulled Bucky by the wrist into his bedroom and pulled open his wardrobe.

" _Jesus_ , James, do you own enough _black?"_

"You can _never_ own enough black."

"Amen," came Barton's voice from the living room, and Bucky let out a snort of laughter. The tension between the three of them that had been gradually getting worse throughout the day was beginning to disappear. Good.

"Well, I think you can, and you do. New rule, James- no more buying black things."

"I look good in black," Bucky argued, gesturing down at his tight black t-shirt and dark trousers. "It makes me look mysterious."

"More like homeless. And your hair doesn't help; shouldn't you be due for a haircut some time soon?"

Bucky shrugged, flopping down onto his side on his bed, folding his hands beside him and watching Natasha. "I'm growing it out. Always wanted long hair."

"Well, you're starting to look like a vampire."

He frowned. "That's not my hair, that's just 'cause I'm stupid and pale. Fucking Russian genes, I swear."

Natasha actually laughed, shaking her head as she flicked through Bucky's closet. "At least you didn't get the ginger ones… What about this?"

Bucky stared at her in genuine shock. "I am _not_ wearing those."

"Why not?"

"Nat, I can't wear leather pants. It's a burger joint, not a strip club. I'll look ridiculous."

Natasha pouted. "But leather pants are hot."

"I'm not refuting that, trust me, but I can't wear leather pants on a first date. That's totally not okay."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "It's not like you've never _met_ before, you don't need to make a good first impression, you've been skirting around each other for _months_ -"

" _Natalia_. _No_ _leather_."

Clint's confused voice drifted in from the next room; "Leather _what?"_

 _"Pants,_ Clint."

_"What?"_

"LEATHER _PANTS_!"

"Oh, sorry." There was some rustling, and Bucky grinned to himself. "My hearing aid's dying in my left ear. You don't happen to have any batteries, Barnes, do you?"

"For hearing aids? Almost certainly not, sorry pal."

"What was that?"

Bucky just sniggered in response.

Natasha rolled her eyes, pulling something else out of his closet. "This?"

"I look crap in purple. It drains my skin of what little colour I actually have; it's awful, makes me look like a heroin addict or something. I don't think I've worn that since my sister's wedding."

Natasha arched a delicate eyebrow at him as she tossed the purple button-up onto his bed. "You wore _that_ to your sister's wedding?'

"I was a bridesmaid, shut up."

" _You_ were a-"

" _Shut up._ "

"You just get gayer by the second, don't you?"

"You're an asshole."

"I want to see the photos, can I see them?"

"No. Anyway, moving on; I want to go for something more casual, you know?"

"From what I'm getting from your closet, you only own either pornstar-formal Christian Grey style suits, leather, or black. So really, James, you don't have a whole lot of options."

Bucky rolled his eyes, getting up off the bed and pulling a loose, white, see-through-ish t-shirt off the rack and holding it out to her. "What about this?"

Natasha took it off him and eyed it thoughtfully. "This is cute... What about this with the pants you're wearing now?"

"No, I have tighter and blacker ones. I'll wear those. They make my ass look amazing. I love those pants."

"There's the self-confidence I was looking for; shoes?"

Bucky shrugged. "I dunno, that's why you're here."

"How about those?" Natasha pointed to a pair of black boots with unnecessarily large number of buckles. "Those're nice."

"You think?"

"Hella nice."

Bucky grinned, rolling his eyes at her. "Okay, I'll wear those." He nodded.

"Are you gonna do the eyeliner thing?"

Bucky grinned. "Eyeliner thing?"

"You know," Natasha rolled her eyes, "you don't need to pretend anymore, James, we all knew you did it."

"Did what?" Bucky asked innocently, but Natasha just pointedly stared at him with her hands on her hips.

"You totally used to wear eyeliner. And we all hated you for it because it actually looked great. And I'm willing to bet you still own some, so come on; are you gonna do the eyeliner thing or not?"

Bucky laughed, brushing a hand through his hair. "Uh, I dunno. Maybe. Probably."

"It makes your eyes stand out," Natasha agreed, "So I would."

"You gonna offer to let me borrow your lipstick next?" Bucky asked teasingly, but Natasha suddenly got this glint in her eye...

"Nat, no."

"But _James_ , it could _work_ -"

"I'm not wearing lipstick. No."

"But _James!"_

"I'm still a man, Natalia, and despite blurring the lines a little with eyeliner I remain enough of a man to not wear lipstick."

Natasha rolled her eyes at him. "Don't even talk to me about bullshit gender rolls right now, Barnes." Her phone started buzzing, and she held up a hand to silence him as she answered it.

"Romanoff."

Bucky bounced back down onto the bed, crossing his legs and watching her as he tapped out an absent rhythm on his leg with his fingers.

"Oh, hey Steve!"

Bucky was suddenly a lot more interested in listening.

"What's he saying?" He hissed at Natasha, who just shot him a silencing glare.

"I _heard!_ He hasn't stopped going on about it, he's _super_ excited. He's like a child."

Bucky let out a whine of discomfort, trying to snatch the phone out of her hands, but she was too fast.

Natasha gave him a wicked grin as she ducked out of his grip, skirting around the bed and vaulting over it before Bucky could grab her arm.

"Oh, you don't know what to wear?" 

"Nat, I wanna talk to him, gimme the phone!"

"Well, James has the same problem; you know, he's been stressing _all_ afternoon-"

" _Natalia!"_ Bucky made another dive for the phone but she stepped out of his way at the last second, causing him to crash ungracefully into his closet door with a yelp of surprise.

"Oh, yeah, I bet that'll look amazing. Yeah, of course I'm sure."

" _Nat_ -" Bucky tried to snatch her phone again, but she blocked him easily with her elbow.

"He'll love it. He's totally a sap for that stuff."

"I'M NOT A SAP," Bucky yelled as he made another wild grab for Natasha's arm.

She spun around and roundhouse kicked him in the stomach.

Bucky doubled over, wheezing, and Natasha just smiled sweetly at him.

"What's that? Oh, no, he's not here right now. I was just talking to Clint."

Clint's voice carried through from the next room, "DID SOMEONE SAY MY NAME?"

"Barton," Bucky wheezed, stumbling back to his feet and grabbing one of Natasha's arms. "Help-"

Natasha pulled free again easily, practically dancing across the room.

"No, nobody's screaming for help. Clint's watching some stupid cop show on TV."

"Don't listen to her," Bucky tried to yell, but suddenly Natasha was right there, covering his mouth with her small but _jesuschristsostrong_ hand.

"Okay, alright Steve. I'll tell him. Okay, see you on Monday! Byee!"

"I hate you," Bucky moaned as she removed her hand, rubbing at his aching chest where she kicked him. "I hate you so fucking much."

"You've really let yourself go, James. We used to be even in a fight. Now all it takes is, like, one kick and you're done."

"I've been out of the army longer than you!"

"Yeah, but only by two years. I'd get back into shape if I were you."

"I'm still a better shot."

"At least I'm not getting chubby." The petite and evil redhead winked at him before sauntering out of the room.

" _I'm not getting chubby_ ," Bucky yelled after her, frowning down at his own stomach. " _Don't be so superficial!"_

"Isn't your date at 7?" Natasha's voice floated in from the living room. "You should start getting ready. Oh, and Steve told me to tell you to bring a jacket in case you wanna go for a drink after. Ain't that thoughtful?" _  
_

Bucky ignored her. He glanced at his watch as he leant against the doorway, watching her slide onto the couch beside Clint and start fiddling around with the chamber of his gun. "It's only 4:45, I don't need to start getting ready yet."

"You wanna go out to dinner smelling like gunpowder and chemicals, that's your choice," Natasha shrugged. "If I were you I'd take a looong shower. Are you gonna shave?"

"I wasn't _planning_ to-"

"You should. Like I said before, with your hair and all you look a bit like a homeless person.

Bucky let his hands drop down to his sides a little exasperatedly. He looked to Clint for help.

Barton just gave Bucky a look, raising his eyebrows. "She's not wrong."

"Fine," Bucky conceded with a roll of his eyes. "Are you guys just gonna sit here in my apartment for the rest of the day then, or what?"

His friends looked at eachother.

"That was kinda the plan, yeah."

"Got nowhere better to be, and you have Netflix."

Bucky rolled his eyes at the pair of them, before dragging himself into the bathroom. 

He was just about to turn on the shower when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

**_1 NEW MESSAGE- MESSAGE FROM: STEVE_ **

**_I assume it was you yelling in the background when I called Natasha?_ **

Bucky found himself smiling down at his phone like a teenager as he tapped out a reply.

**_TO: STEVE_ **

**_FROM: BUCKY_ **

**_no, it was barton like she told u. they're not even in my apartment, occupying my couch or eating my food right now._ **

A few seconds later, his phone pinged again.

**_TO: BUCKY_ **

**_FROM: STEVE_ **

**_Of course :P We still on for tonight?_ **

Bucky chewed on his lip to stop himself from grinning.

**_TO: STEVE_ **

**_FROM: BUCKY_ **

**_totally. see u there x_ **

It wasn't until after he'd pressed 'send' that he noticed he'd accidentally added a kiss onto the end, but oh well. He was sure Steve would appreciate the gesture.

Ten seconds later, he got his reply.

_**TO: BUCKY** _

_**FROM: STEVE** _

_**Just one 'x'? I'm almost offended. Also kinda hoping that's not a prediction.**_

Bucky grinned down at his screen, rereading the text a few more times before setting his phone down next to the sink. He really _did_ need to shower.

 

*

 

Steve was almost ten minutes early. 

He sat in his car in the parking lot round the back of the diner, sighing as he watched the seconds tick by on his wristwatch. 

The sun was only just beginning to set, and the whole parking lot was covered in the light pink glow of early evening. Steve was so distracted watching the sun as it disappeared behind the high rise buildings that he didn't notice Bucky approaching him until he knocked on his window.

Steve jumped in his seat, looking up. His face relaxed into a grin when he saw Bucky's slouched figure smirking back at him.

"So we're both early," he joked as he stepped out of the car, straightening his jacket and looking for the first time directly into Bucky's eyes.

 _Wow_.

His eyelashes seemed longer, darker, fuller; turning his eyes an even brighter shade of blue. Steve could swear he was wearing mascara. There was a bit of eyeliner- Steve definitely knew that was eyeliner- smudged in the corners of his eyes, making the effect even more obvious.

He allowed his eyes to slowly drift down from Bucky's smirking face, maybe lingering for a bit too long on his legs in the dark, tight-fitting pants he was wearing-

"Guess so."

Steve cleared his throat, eyes snapping back up to meet Bucky's again.

"You look... Um..."

Bucky grinned widely. "Yeah. I know."

"You _know?"_

"Of course; body positivity, right? I'm hella sexy." Steve felt himself flush as he watched Bucky give his chest an appreciative look. "You're not half bad either. _Love_ the sweater, Steve, I really do."

Steve glanced down at his slightly-too-small grey sweater. "It shrunk in the wash."

"It looks great."

"Thanks, Buck." Steve grinned up at him. "You hungry?"

"Starving," Bucky admitted immediately, grabbing Steve's arm and practically pulling him into the diner. "I missed lunch."

Steve snorted. "Don't people usually eat _before,_ so they eat less on the date, rather than skipping lunch?"

"I wouldn't know; never been on one."

This revelation had Steve a little lost for words, but that wasn't a problem because at that moment a waitress emerged, holding a stack of colourful laminated menus in her hands. 

"Table for two, please," Bucky said politely, and the young blonde smiled at him as she led them over to a booth by the window in the corner of the restaurant.

"Someone should be back in a few minutes to take your order," the waitress said sweetly as both men slid into opposite sides of the booth, passing a menu to each of them.

"Thanks," Bucky told her as she disappeared off to help someone else.

"It's busy," Steve commented lamely, before mentally kicking himself for using such a dumb conversation starter.

"Yeah," Bucky agreed as he glanced around at the mostly-full tables. "I didn't expect it to be."

"Neither," Steve nodded.

They fell into a slightly uncomfortable silence as they examined the menus.

"So many awesome burgers," Bucky sighed wistfully after a few seconds. "So many. I'm almost _glad_ I didn't eat lunch. Actually, that's a lie, I'm totally starving."

"Yeah, why _didn't_ you have lunch, by the way?"

"Because I was too busy shooting things and arguing with Natasha," Bucky said sadly, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

Steve snorted. He elected to ignore the part about shooting things; he probably didn't want to know. "What were you arguing about?"

Bucky grinned at him. "This is super top secret information, Steve, okay? If I tell you then you gotta keep it between us, because I don't want my balls cut off."

Steve laughed. "Okay, deal. I have to know now anyway, I'm invested."

"I think Nat's got a man."

"Oh my _god_ , where's she keeping him?!"

Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve's awful joke, but Steve don't miss the way his lips quirked up in a quick grin before he could hide it. "That wasn't funny."

"Yes it was. Anyway, who's she seeing?"

Bucky actually _pouted_ , damn it, and it did things to Steve's stomach that it probably shouldn't.

"She won't tell me."

Steve shrugged. "Then that means you probably know him."

"What makes you say that?" Bucky prompted, leaning forwards slightly across the table.

"Because why else would she not say who it is? If it was a stranger then it wouldn't matter."

"True," Bucky said thoughtfully as he leaned back into the booth, folding his arms across his desk and frowning at the table.

Steve couldn't help but laugh. "This is really bugging you, isn't it."

" _Yes!"_

A different waitress stopped by their table to take their order. Steve ordered a bacon double cheeseburger and a coke, and Bucky asked for the same, except with extra fries, extra cheese and an order of nachos. And a large vanilla milkshake. With cream.

When the waitress was gone Steve quirked an eyebrow at him, grinning, and Bucky just shrugged defensively.

"What? I'm hungry."

"I can see that."

"... Shut up."

Steve grinned. "How do you eat so much and then look like _that?_ I'mtelling you, Buck, it ain't fair."

Bucky laughed, and Steve felt his knee nudge his own under the table. "I've got a great personal trainer."

"The best," Steve smirked, and Bucky threw his head back with a laugh.

"Well, I dunno about _best_. Top three, maybe."

"I'm offended."

Bucky grinned widely. "Like when I only sent one kiss on that text?"

Steve snorted. "Uh, no. Im way more offended that you don't appreciate my skills as a personal trainer. I should start making you pay for our sessions."

Bucky pouted. "But Steve, I'm too poor to pay for those."

"You just blew all your money on a piano and a Wii," Steve teased, "I'm sure you'd be able to afford it."

Their drinks arrived and Bucky immediately inhaled a quarter of the milkshake through the bendy straw it came with.

Steve grinned as he watched him, fiddling with the straw in his coke. "Good?"

" _Very_ good. You can try some if you want."

Steve grinned. "Sure."

"But it ain't free," Bucky smirked. "What'll you offer me in return?"

Steve snorted. "What do you want?"

Bucky leaned forwards, and his knees knocked against Steve's under the table. "Kiss me."

"Huh?"

Bucky shrugged, a faux-innocent expression on his face. "If you kiss me you can have some."

Steve grinned, raising his eyebrows. "Isn't that a little forward for a first date, Sergeant?"

"Oh jeez, don't _you_ call me Sergeant, the _kids_ do that."

Steve huffed out a laugh. "Aww. That's adorable."

"Punk."

"You love me."

Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes. He smirked up at Steve, and the look in his bright eyes was enough to send a small shiver traveling right to the base of Steve's spine. "So, Rogers, what'll it be? Live forever not knowing how good this milkshake is, or kiss me for it?"

"Gee, Bucky, I don't know, they're both pretty awful options."

"Rude," Bucky laughed, and Steve just winked at him.

Steve loved how _natural_ everything felt when he was around Bucky. It was like their personalities just clicked and morphed together into one; like he didn't even have to try. It just felt so... Right.

"Come on, Steve, this is a one-time-only offer." Bucky smirked.

"Do I kiss you now or later?"

"Right now. Chop chop." He winked.

Steve raised his eyebrows, grinning. "Buck, there's like 40 other people in here."

Bucky shrugged, "So? They wouldn't care if we were straight people. Besides, I'm not saying you have to make out with me for it, just a kiss. Trust me, it's a really great milkshake."

"It better be," Steve teased as he leaned across the table, placing one hand on the side of Bucky's neck and pressing their lips together.

It only lasted a second, but the brief, chaste moment of contact between them was enough to spark a short burst of electricity through Steve's entire body. Bucky's lips were warm and soft and slightly quirked up in a smile as he tilted his head to the side.

And then it was over, and Steve was leaning back into his seat, and Bucky was just sitting there, smirking at him, cheeks ever so slightly flushed. 

"Would you like to try my milkshake, Steve?"

Steve smirked up at him. "No thanks. I don't really like milkshakes."

The split-second look of genuine surprise on Bucky's face was absolutely worth it. He beamed delightedly across the table at Steve before turning his attention back to his drink. "Oh. Okay."

Steve found himself grinning, and quickly raised his coke to his lips to try and hide it.

The next time they made eye contact, Bucky's smile was so warm and genuine and _happy_ that it made Steve's heart melt in his chest.

Their food arrived a few minutes later, and Steve watched in amusement as Bucky quite literally vacuumed up everything on his plate within ten minutes.

"We should've done this weeks ago," Steve chuckled as he shook his head, popping another fry into his mouth. "Why didn't we do this weeks ago?"

Bucky snorted, "Don't look at me, pal, I _did_ ask. You were too busy chasing a skirt; hey, are you gonna eat that bacon?"

"Nah, it's all yours."

Bucky snagged the piece of bacon off his plate.

"Did you wanna go for a drink or something after?"

Steve looked up, blinking, having not really been paying attention. He was too busy staring at Bucky's mouth as he pushed the bacon past his lips. "Sorry, what?"

"Y'know, you mentioned to Nat that we might go for a drink after. You still wanna do that?"

Steve smiled. "Yeah- I mean, if you want to."

Bucky nodded enthusiastically, and Steve was too busy eyeing his lips that he didn't notice when Bucky stole one of his fries.

When the time came to pay the bill they argued for a while over who should take it, before eventually deciding just to split and pay half each. Bucky hadn't been too happy with this, considering he'd eaten more, but Steve insisted. After a few minutes, Bucky had given in.

There was no pressure to be anyone but himself around Bucky, Steve noticed. The other man seemed to seamlessly blend into his life; they were friends, definitely friends, but there was also something more than that. Something a lot more than that. But there wasn't any pressure to be, and that easiness- the sense that they had all the time in the world- was something that Steve could really get used to.

"So where did you have in mind?" Bucky asked as he shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his leather jacket, glancing sideways at Steve. "Because, as much as I'd love to grind against you in a club or something, I think I might have a panic attack if we go to one. I'm almost thirty, man, that's old as shit, and there'd be like 20-year-olds in there. We'd be the creepy old guys."

They were walking side-by-side down the sidewalk, illuminated by the headlights of passing cars and the street lamps above. Music drifted through the harsh November air from various clubs and restaurants they passed.

"I was thinking more along the lines of a bar," Steve half-laughed, clapping Bucky's back with one hand. "Less pressure to be under 25 in one of those."

"That's definitely a good plan."

"I hate being old."

"Me too."

Fifteen minutes later they were sitting on bar stools in an old, dingy but somehow pretty busy dive called The Red Lion, chinking their glasses together.

"Cheers," Steve grinned at him.

"Back at'cha." Bucky took a long drink of his… Pear cider? Steve wasn't sure. Some kind of cider.

"So," Bucky started after a few minutes silence over the noise of the other patrons and the soft melody of some song by The Kinks in the background, placing his pint carefully back down on the bar. "As far as first dates go, this hasn't been awful."

Steve didn't quite manage to hold back his loud laugh. "Not awful? What a compliment, Buck, thanks a bunch."

Bucky grinned back, punching his shoulder. "I'm trying to not be sappy, shut the fuck up!"

"Not be sappy? We literally kissed over a milkshake."

"This ain't Grease, pal, don't you dare go around telling people that we kissed over a milkshake. I have a strong military reputation to uphold."

Steve snorted. "I heard you getting annihilated by Natasha over the phone earlier. Not sure how well your reputation would uphold if that got out."

Bucky jabbed a finger at him accusingly. "I once witnessed that woman knock three men out with nothing but a mobile phone and some 4-inch heels while she was handcuffed to a chair. Just last night she punched Clint so hard in the nuts that I thought he was gonna cry. I'd like to see _you_ take her on."

"So you admit to being beaten by a girl?"

Bucky laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, if any girl was to get the better of me, it'd be her."

"Did she help you choose what you were gonna wear?"

Steve couldn't help but grin as Bucky stuck his chin out defensively. "She might've helped a tiny bit. But I _can_ dress myself, okay, I just wanted her advice."

Steve grinned, rolling his eyes. "I'm not so sure."

"Hey, Stevie, the 1990s called, they want their Grandpa McAll-American-Boyscout look back."

"That's real hilarious," Steve joked, and Bucky winked at him.

"What can I say; I'm a funny guy."

The easy banter dissolved into a comfortable silence as they finished their drinks, Bucky looking intrigued as he watched the football game on TV, and Steve pretending to be at least a little interested.

"You don't like football?"

Okay, so apparently he was easy to read.

Steve shrugged, downing the last of his beer and replacing the empty glass on the counter. "Not really. Always been more of a baseball fan."

Bucky grinned. "What team?"

That was an easy one. "Die hard Yankees."

"Nooo!" Bucky practically wailed, laughing as he clapped both hands down onto Steve's thighs. "Oh my god, no, things were going so well between us. Steve, I'm sorry, but this is the end."

Steve was laughing now too, and he found his hands almost subconsciously resting down over the top of Bucky's on his legs. "I bet you're a fucking Mets fan, aren't you."

"How are you _not_ a Mets fan?! Didn't you grow up in Brooklyn?!" One of Bucky's hands- his left, to be precise- had fallen back to hang limply at his side, but the other hand turned over on Steve's thigh and was now interlaced with Steve's, their fingers entwined. Steve hadn't even noticed it happen.

"Yeah," Steve grinned, "But everyone I knew supported the Yankees."

"Then you must've known literally _no one_ , Steve."

"You can't even talk to me right now, the Mets suck ass. We're in 2nd, in case you didn't know. Wanna guess where you're at?"

"Don't be an asshole-"

"4th. That's right, you're 4th. Mets suck, that's all.'

"I'm gonna make it my lifelong mission to change your mind."

"Lifelong?" Steve grinned, and if he held Bucky's fingers a little tighter, then sue him. "What makes you think I'm gonna stick around that long?"

Bucky laughed. "Pal, as long as you're a Yankees supporter I ain't letting you out of my god damn sight."

Steve laughed, pretending he didn't notice how much stronger Bucky's Brooklyn accent was when he was in a good mood like this, or how electric his eyes looked in the darkness of the room, or the plump, red, invitingness of his lips. Nope, he pretended not to notice, because they were in a bar full of older men and loan sharks in a crappy part of New York at night time, and youngish guys with homosexual tendencies tended not to do so awesome in that environment.

But, despite all that, he didn't let go of Bucky's hand.

"Hey," Bucky said in a low voice after draining what was left of his drink, "I'm bored. Let's get out of here."

"We've only been here for fifteen minutes," Steve teased, but Bucky shot him a look, and _oh_.

 _Right_.

"C'mon," Bucky smirked, noticing Steve's sudden flustered behaviour as he got to his feet. "Let's go."

Steve allowed Bucky to drag him out of the bar by his hand, leaving a $10 bill on the bar just as he was being tugged away.

"Do you remember where you parked?"

"Uhh," Steve smirked, raising his eyebrows, "same place as you?"

Bucky quirked an eyebrow of his own. "I took the bus."

"Oh, fair enough. Um, yeah. I remember where I parked."

Bucky grinned, and the effect it had on Steve was _devastating_. "Lead the way, Stevie." The large, warm hand in his own squeezed for a moment before loosening, and that was when Steve remembered that they were still holding hands.

This was shaping up to easily be one of the best nights of his life.

It didn't take long before they made it back to Steve's car.

"Hey, so um, I don't actually have a way to get home, as it stands, so could you drop me?" Bucky asked hopefully as he slid into the passenger seat of Steve's car, flashing him another one of his megawatt smiles. "Don't go out of your way though if you don't want to, just anywhere along the way would be awesome-"

"I'll drop you," Steve assured him with a grin as he started the engine. "You're not that far away from me anyway."

"Good thing too."

Steve tried not to read too much into that.

The car ride back to Bucky's apartment nearly caused an accident, because Bucky wouldn't stop singing along loudly and badly to every crappy pop song that came on the radio, and Steve couldn't stop laughing.

The best by far had been when some new Fall Out Boy song had come on, Centuries or something, and Bucky had actually squealed with excitement, which in turn had reduced Steve to tears of laughter and resulted in him running a red light and almost causing a traffic collision.

In Bucky's defence, it was a surprisingly good song.

He'd have to google these Fall Out Boys.

When they finally reached Bucky's apartment building the pair were still in fits, which were only amplified by the sheer awfulness of Steve's parking, as he couldn't be bothered to do it properly in the dark in the middle of the night.

"You, uhhh," Bucky started after the laughter had died down a little, and they were both still sitting in Steve's car in the parking lot, "you wanna come up, maybe? I've got some DVDs and stuff-"

"I'd love to," Steve blurted out.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

But then Bucky burst out laughing.

His laugh was just fucking infectious, and Steve couldn't help but grin widely as he watched his date- it felt weird saying that- throw his head back with laughter. "Did I say that _way_ to quickly?"

"Damn, Steve, and for a minute there I thought _I_ was being forward…"

Steve smirked. "You were! We've only kissed, like, twice, and not even properly, and now you're inviting me up to your apartment. After date 1. You sure do move fast, Sergeant Barnes."

Bucky grinned up at him, twisting in his seat so he was facing Steve. "Was that a challenge?"

"Was what a challenge?"

"Saying that we haven't kissed properly. It sounded kinda like a challenge."

Steve ran his tongue along his lips to wet them slightly, not failing to notice how Bucky's eyes darted downwards as he did so.

"I'm not that easy," he smirked teasingly.

Bucky just laughed. "Well, you already said you'd come up. And if you won't come up until we've 'kissed properly'-" he used air quotes around the words- "then we should probably do something about that."

"Probably," Steve agreed. He leaned a little closer.

"I'm getting a little sick of having to tell you to kiss me, Rogers. A little spontaneity on your part would be nice."

Steve shot him a wicked grin. "I'll work on that."

"Promise?"

"Promise." 

And then Bucky was kissing him.

It was nothing like their kiss in the diner, or their kiss at Halloween; yeah, Steve still remembered that, shut up. This was still painfully slow, but it was deep, and hungry, and it felt like Bucky was memorising every inch of his mouth as he grabbed a handful of Steve's sweater and tugged him closer.

Bucky tasted like cider and mint- he must have some mints or something in his pocket, and Steve suddenly felt embarrassed that he didn't. His mouth was warm and wet and welcoming, and when Bucky eased open his mouth and he felt his tongue press against his own Steve couldn't help the indecent groan that escaped his lips.

Suddenly, there was a lot more heat. Steve's fingers knotted into Bucky's stupid long hair as Bucky twisted even further in his seat, trying to get a better angle. His teeth grazed Steve's bottom lip in a way that Steve thought could be accidental but knowing Bucky probably wasn't. There was a hand on his jaw and another on his chest but Steve barely even registered it, focused too intently on the lips against his, the hot, heavy, pressing heat in his mouth, and the occasional brush of teeth against his lip.

It wasn't until Steve couldn't physically breathe that they broke the kiss, both panting slightly in the darkness. Bucky let his forehead fall against Steve's with a gentle sigh, and Steve smiled as he felt Bucky's warm breath on his cheek. The hand on his jaw didn't move, and Steve registered the calloused skin of a thumb gently brushing along the skin of his jawline.

Steve opened his eyes slowly to see that Bucky still had his closed, and was smiling slightly as his nose brushed Steve's.

"Like I said," came the breathless murmur. "Not an awful first date."

"Shut up," Steve huffed out in amusement, and as Bucky's eyes opened to give him a surprised look he took advantage of his already-parted lips to drag Bucky back into a kiss.

The other man let out a muffled moan as he kissed Steve eagerly back, and suddenly every sensor in Steve's body was working in overdrive. He was aware of every tiny movement Bucky made; of everywhere they touched. 

Bucky dragged his fingers almost lazily through Steve's hair, pressing one more heavy, deep kiss to Steve's open mouth before pulling messily away again with a soft, wet sound, and instantly locking his lips onto a spot on the side of Steve's neck.

Steve let his head drop back with a barely-stifled groan as he felt Bucky's teeth nip at his skin before dragging even further down his neck, where one of his hands pulled at his sweater slightly to expose his collar bone.

"Can we go upstairs now," Steve managed in a low, rough voice, and all the air in his lungs vanished in a single second when he got a glimpse of Bucky's face in the dim light reflected from the street lamps.

His eyeliner had smudged slightly around his eyes, which were now just thin rings of bright blue swallowed up almost entirely by black pupils, blown wide with lust. His lips were redder and more puffy, and he had a _devastatingly_ handsome grin on his face.

"Why Stevie, I thought you'd never ask."

They stumbled out of the car together and practically fell into the building, giggling. Bucky dragged Steve up the stairs, ignoring his complaints about the elevator still being broken, which _really_ was getting to be a serious inconvenience at this point, because kissing people on stairs in the dark just isn't safe. 

"Talk to the fucking super," Steve half gasped as Bucky crowded him into the wall beside his apartment door, still out of breath from practically jogging up the stairs. "Get the fucking elevator-"

"I don't like elevators anyway," Bucky dismissed as he pinned Steve against the wall with his hips and kissed him hungrily, hands sliding down his chest. His right stopped at his stomach but his left continued until it found the hem of his sweater, rucking it up slightly and sliding his fingers up underneath, tracing patterns onto his skin.

Steve tried to force back a groan as he caught Bucky's bottom lip between his teeth. "Open the door already," he hissed with a half laugh, shoving Bucky roughly away.

Bucky stumbled back a few steps, laughing breathlessly, fumbling with the keys as he moved to unlock his apartment door as quickly as possible.

As soon as the door was open, however, Bucky immediately froze.

Steve frowned, slowly going up behind him. "Buck," he said in a low voice, "Bucky, what's wrong?"

"Don't panic," Bucky said in a controlled, quiet voice, "but there's someone in my apartment."

Steve swallowed thickly. "How- what? How do you know that?"

"It's too cold. I never change the temperature in here; someone's opened a window. I just… I just know, okay? Wait here." Bucky didn't switch on the lights as he began to enter the dark living room, not making a single sound as he moved, and Steve suddenly remembered that yeah, Bucky had been a sniper in the army, and this was probably exactly the kind of thing that he'd been trained for.

Steve watched as he moved soundlessly over to a table by the wall, pulling open the drawer and- Jesus Christ, of course he has a gun in there. Steve doesn't even have time to lecture him about how completely fucking unsafe that is, just having it lying about, before the lights are switched on by someone who definitely isn't Bucky-

There was a shout, and an exclamation of surprise, and then the sound of something shattering.

Steve jumped, heart pounding in his chest, but as soon as he laid eyes on the intruder everything seemed to make a bit more sense.

" _Henry!_ " Bucky was bellowing as he practically slammed the SIG in his hands back down on the table. "Why the _fuck_ -"

" _You could've shot me, James!"_ The dark-haired teenager yelled back, giving Bucky a stare that was torn between indignant and downright terrified. There was a shattered glass at his feet, water seeping into the cracks between the wooden boards.

"I wasn't gonna shoot anybody; I thought there was a fucking _assassin_ in my kitchen or something!"

That made Steve wonder exactly how important he'd really been in the army; why was his first though assassin, of all things? Not burglar? No?

"Well clearly _not!"  
_

_"Then don't break into my house in the middle of the fucking night! Jesus!"_

Steve quickly shut the door, so as not to accidentally wake the neighbours.

"I didn't know you had a fucking _gun_ in your side table, now did I?!"

Bucky was staring at him incredulously. "I was _military!_ This is _Brooklyn!_ Of _course_ I've got a god damn gun, Henry!"

"You didn't have to aim the fuckin' thing at _me!"_

"YOU _BROKE INTO_ MY _HOUSE!"_

"I couldn't find a spare key!"

"So you _climbed in_ through a _window?!"_

_"What else was I supposed to do?!"_

Bucky was staring at his brother like he'd grown a second head. He let out a deep, long-suffering sigh, pressing his fingers to his temples. "Это такой нагрузкибык дерьмо… You know what, okay. Fine. Whatever. I don't fucking care. Just tell me why you're here." _Translation: This is such a load of bullshit_.

Henry glared at him as he bent down to pick up the larger pieces of glass that lay scattered all over the floor with his bare hands, so Steve assumed that whatever Bucky had said in Russian was probably rude to a certain extent. Steve was fairly surprised when Henry didn't retaliate.

"Sashie's home again," he muttered by way of explanation. "Couldn't stay with _him_ in the house, obviously, and Anna's away in Puerto Rico for business, and Jessie's house has too many girls, and Sebastian's always fuckin' busy so I figured I could come here."

Bucky just glared right on back. "Didn't occur to you that _I'd_ be busy?"

Henry's sharp blue eyes drifted almost curiously over to Steve. "Not really. Hey, man."

Steve nodded slightly, suddenly aware of exactly what this looked like. "Hey."

"How's it going?"

Bucky groaned exasperatedly, interrupting him. "Just pick up the fucking glass and take the couch, okay? Does Ma know you're here?"

"No, but Dad does."

"He let you come?"

"He wasn't exactly sober."

"Fair."

Henry shrugged, resuming to collect the larger shards in what remained of the glass itself. "They won't mind."

"Probably not. Steve," Bucky sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, "I'm having a coffee, do you-?"

"Please," Steve acknowledged with a small smile.

Bucky gestured for Steve to follow him through into the kitchen, so he did, closing the door quietly behind them.

"I'm so sorry," were the first words out of Bucky's mouth, and Steve actually found himself smiling back at the stressed-looking man in front of him.

"It's fine," he promised, "really. Family emergency, I get it. It happens."

Bucky grimaced. "This ain't no family emergency, this is just my brother being a dumbass. He's totally got some asshole drug lord on his tail again, the son of a bitch. This is like the third time, not that he'll admit it. But every time he goes to 'stay with my parents' there's always something fishy about it."

Steve was confused. "Henry?"

Bucky shook his head. "No, no. Sashie. Sascha, sorry. Different brother." He filled the pot with water and added the coffee granules before switching it on, sidestepping around Steve to grab a pair of mugs. 

"It al sounds kinda… Complicated."

"It is." Bucky sighed deeply, resting his hips against the counter and crossing his arms. "Henry's _such_ a little мудак- I really _do_ want to shoot him."

"I don't know what that means."

"What? Oh, asshole. It means asshole."

Steve suddenly remembered something. "Buck, we gotta have words about where you keep that gun. The SIG you pulled out of the drawer, that is _not_ safe. _Anyone_ could find that. You gotta put those things under lock and key, man. I mean, come on, you should _know_ this."

Bucky shrugged. "I've got more than one. Doesn't matter if someone finds one of them, they won't find all of 'em."

Steve raised his eyebrows. "More than one?"

"Well, there's an assault rifle in the safe in my closet."

Steve's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "Do you have a permit for that?!"

Bucky just grinned wickedly at him. "Baby, everything that I've done, my name _alone_ is a permit."

And jeez. That was a scary thought.

Steve didn't even clock that Bucky had called him 'baby'.

He just let out a deep sigh, rubbing his face with his hands. "Buck, just don't leave a loaded gun in an unlocked drawer in the future, 'kay? It ain't safe."

Bucky rolled his eyes, like he was only half listening, but he agreed anyway. "Yeah, sure. Okay."

He had just started to pour the coffee into the mugs when the door opened and Henry walked in, hands full of broken glass.

"Anywhere in particular I should put this?"

Bucky shrugged, gesturing to the garbage with one hand and not looking at his brother. "Trash can's fine."

"It'll tear the bag."

"So put it in another bag." Bucky handed Steve his coffee. Steve just hummed his thanks.

Steve could practically _hear_ Henry's eye roll. "Jesus, Jamie, you're worse than _Ma_."

"Then why don't you go break into someone _else's_ house?"

He couldn't argue with that, it seemed. Henry flipped Bucky off behind his back with a sarcastic smirk before dumping the remains of the glass he'd dropped into the trash can.

"So what was I interrupting?" He inquired with an innocent expression, glancing between Steve and Bucky with a knowing smirk.

Steve said nothing, thinking it was best probably not to, and just raised his mug to his lips, not looking at either of them.

Bucky, however, glared straight at his brother. "You're just really lucky I'm not drunk, you know. Then I probably _would've_ shot you." 

"That doesn't really answer my question though, does it. Also, are you wearing eyeliner? Are you a tranny now as well as a closeted fuckin' homosexual? Ma would be over the moon if you were a tranny, you know."

"…I'm going to do you a favour and pretend I didn't hear _any_ of that. You know, it's almost two in the morning, I think this is about the time when teenagers wanting to avoid B &E charges just pipe the fuck down and go to sleep on their very tolerant brother's couch," Bucky said in a sharp tone, lifting his coffee in the direction of the door. "So go on, off you go."

"ублюдок,"  _Bastard_ , Henry muttered as he stomped out of the room.

Steve frowned as the door was practically slammed shut behind him. "I assume he just swore at you so I have to ask; is casual swearing in Russian a thing that happens often in your family?"

"You'd be surprised."

"I'm sorry. I know that's not exactly how you probably planned on coming out to your family."

Bucky shrugged. "Hey, he doesn't know shit. He's just being a smartass." He didn't look convinced, but Steve didn't press it. Bucky sighed, putting his mug down on the counter and taking hold of Steve's shirt collar with both hands. "I'm sorry," he apologised again as he pulled him down into a long, sweet kiss; different from the last time purely in that it wasn't promising anything to follow. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Steve murmured as Bucky let his head drop against his shoulder with a frustrated groan. 

"I have to take a rain check."

"I know."

Bucky sighed against his shoulder. "I'm-"

"Bucky, I swear to god, if you apologise _one more time_ -"

Bucky snorted, letting go of Steve's collar and taking a few steps back, picking up his coffee mug again. "Yeah, yeah, point taken."

"I should probably go," Steve admitted as he did the reverse of Bucky's movement, setting his own mug on the counter. "I had a great time. Thank you."

Bucky grinned, shaking his head slightly as he looked away. "This ain't turning sappy, Rogers. Not a chance in hell. Get the fuck out of my apartment."

Steve laughed, giving him a little mock salute. "Aye aye, Bucky."

Bucky smirked, retuning the salute in a much more formal way that made Steve's stomach curl. "That's 'Sergeant' to you."

Steve grinned as he turned to leave. "Ain't you gonna show me out?"

"The door is literally three meters outside the kitchen," Bucky laughed with a roll of his eyes. "I will, however, call you. Definitely."

"You better," Steve smirked as he stepped out of the kitchen and headed for the front door.

"Bye," came Henry's sing-song voice from the couch, and Steve stopped to give the kid what he hoped was a somewhat friendly wave, before he disappeared out of the apartment.

He checked his phone as he half jogged down the stairs, and realised he had a text from Sam from almost two hours ago.

_**TO: STEVE** _

_**FROM: SAM W** _

_**ayo hows the date with the new guy going**_

He thought back to everything that had happened throughout the evening, and grinned to himself. Despite Bucky's little family emergency at the end there, it had actually definitely been one of the best nights he'd ever had. Steve just had time to tap out a reply to Sam before he would reach his car.

**_TO: SAM W_ **

**_FROM: STEVE_ **

**_Awesome._ **

He left it at that.

 

*

 

"So you're gay now," Henry said pointedly when Bucky finally emerged from the kitchen, having abandoned coffee and filled up a glass of something stronger to deal with his shithead brother.

"I'm not fucking gay," Bucky snapped back, glaring at the teenager sprawled across his couch. "I just like hot people. I'm… I forgot what Nat called it. P-something."

"P like pan? Pansexual?"

"That's the one; how do you know that?"

Henry raised his eyebrows. "Have you ever been on the internet for longer than fifteen minutes? Jamie, really. Educate yourself."

Bucky was slightly offended by this, but didn't push it.

"So Stevie's your boyfriend, huh?"

"No," Bucky said defensively as he collapsed down into a chair, before realising how that sounded and rushing to correct it. "I mean, technically, no. We've only been on one date," he paused to shoot his brother a glare before continuing, "which you ruined, by the way, so thanks a lot."

Henry snorted. "What can I say; cockblocking's a sixth sense in this family. Remember last May?"

"…I don't even want to talk about it."

"Your _face_ -"

Bucky shivered. "I reaaaally don't wanna talk about it."

Henry laughed, and Bucky felt himself relax slightly in his chair. Henry wasn't flipping out and calling him the names he'd heard other teenagers yell in school. He was laughing, and not treating him any different, and hey, maybe this wasn't so horrible after all.

"So… You ain't, like, mad?"

Henry frowned. "Why the hell would I be mad?"

Bucky shrugged. "Just kinda figured you would be."

"Not _my_ fuckin' business who you screw, brother."

Bucky snorted. "Amen."

"Kinda confused you didn't tell any of us, though."

"Why's that?"

"I just thought… You know, we tell each other everything."

Bucky knew Henry wasn't including his parents; he meant his siblings. And he was right, in a way; they did tell each other everything, all seven- no, six- of them. They had no secrets. Even the secrets that were attempted to be kept secrets had a way of getting out. And they _never_ ratted out to their parents. It was an unspoken rule.

"We wouldn't have judged you for it or anything."

Bucky sighed. "I know."

"Then why didn't you-"

"I just didn't, okay? I just didn't. It's private."

"Are you gonna tell Ma you're seeing someone?"

Bucky glanced up at his brother, raising his eyebrows. "I wasn't gonna. Why, are you?"

Henry sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. "No," he said eventually. "I ain't gonna say. But Jamie, it's not a big deal. You gotta know that. No one'll give a shit."

"Dad might. And Ma."

Henry shrugged. "Dad's too drunk and Ma's too sad. And we got your back. Always."

Bucky sighed. "Yeah, I know, Henry. Thanks."

They lapsed into an easy silence for a few minutes, before Henry broke it.

"I'm sorry I broke into your house. I just didn't wanna stay at home knowing Sashie had some dodgy shit going on."

Bucky chuckled, the sound coming out low and deep from his throat. "Yeah, pal, I hear ya."

"I'll be gone by tomorrow."

"Sorry I almost shot you."

"It's cool. But really though, back to my earlier question, _are_ you wearing eyeliner?"

"Okay, that? That's a deadlock secret. You can literally tell _no one_ about this, you got it?"

Henry's grin widened. "You totally are."

" _No one."_

 


	8. The Same Page

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg so i really hope you guys like this one???? as you will have noticed, the rating has in fact gone up to explicit. oh god i hope you like it because it made me feel kinda weird
> 
> special thanks to my dear friend jenny who takes the piss out of me all the time, what up jen this one's for you
> 
> -cat

"You will _never_ guess what happened to me last night."

Steve looked up from his book as kind-of-almost-boyfriend collapsed down next to him on the couch in the teacher's lounge with a sigh. "How many guesses do I get?"

"Three," Bucky prompted.

Steve folded over the corner of the page he was on and placed _The Color Purple_ down into his lap. "Aliens?"

"Nope, try again."

Steve and Bucky hadn't actually been on a date since their first one, just over a week ago. It wasn't like they hadn't tried; but things had just been really busy for the both of them. Whenever Bucky had the time, Steve was working on his plans for the gym with Fury; whenever Steve was free, Bucky was swamped with papers to grade, or with 'family matters'. Bucky didn't explain and Steve didn't ask; he didn't have to. And if he'd noticed that Bucky was starting to taste more of nicotine than coffee, he didn't say anything. He knew Bucky would talk about it if he wanted to. It just wasn't a good time. Even Natasha had come to the same conclusion.

But none of that stopped them from exchanging grins in the hallway, or somewhat-suggestive text messages, or on a few occasions short, quick kisses in Bucky's classroom during his free periods. It was a little weird, but hey, Steve would take what he could get at this point.

Oddly, none of the rest of the staff seemed to notice anything was up- and that was probably because, technically, nothing _was_. They weren't really seeing eachother; Steve was pretty sure one date and a messy make-out session in Steve's car didn't count. Natasha knew, of course, and so did Clint and Sam, but nobody else seemed to suspect a thing. Steve was sure they wouldn't mind anyway, but he quite liked keeping it a secret, at least for the time being. It made it feel like they had all the time in the world.

"Uh... Henry?" Steve figured it was a pretty solid guess.

"One more try," Bucky teased with a grin.

"Something to do with cats?"

Bucky laughed. "Strike three, pal, sorry." He clapped Steve gently on the shoulder, allowing his hand to linger there for slightly longer than necessary before letting it drop. 

"Are you gonna tell me the answer, then?" Steve grinned, fighting the temptation to roll his eyes, because then Bucky would just get snarky and he'd _never_ find out.

Bucky beamed at him, practically vibrating with excitement. "Well, you know how for, like, almost two weeks now it's been my sole mission in life to find out who Nat's been sleeping with?"

Steve groaned, letting his head fall back into the couch. "Not _this_ again. Bucky-"

"No, no, I found out!!"

Steve was suddenly more interested. He sat up properly, giving Bucky a look that told him to continue.

Bucky grinned. "Oh, so _now_ you wanna hear it."

"Shut up and tell me."

"You two are such old women," came Darcy's semi-amused voice from the little kitchenette, where she was making herself a coffee.

"Shut up Darcy," was the simultaneous reply from both men.

"So anyway," Bucky continued, turning back to Steve and pointedly ignoring Darcy's overdramatic eye-rolling, "I'm gonna tell you the whole story. I'd just got home…"

 

*

 

Bucky dropped his bag on the ground as he kicked the door to his apartment shut behind him, ignoring the loud thump it made when it hit the floor. All he had in there was papers anyway.

He lit up a cigarette almost immediately; it was a habit he'd gotten into quite quickly over the last few days. When Henry had been staying - he'd stayed for almost three days, the little shit, but after what happened with Sascha... Well. That's a story for another time.

When Henry had been staying, Bucky had found himself desperate to duck out for a smoke just to ease the tension out of his limbs, but he didn't want to make a bad example for his brother.

But that all fell to shit anyway when he'd caught Henry smoking out of his bathroom window, and after a lengthy argument as to just how horrible smoking was and what it did to your body, the brothers had settled down on Bucky's bedroom floor with a cigarette each and complained loudly about how shitty and unfair life could be.

It had, surprisingly, been one of those fabled brotherly bonding moments.

Since then, he'd accidentally started smoking more than he used to. He supposed it was stress, as it was the only excuse that made sense, but realistically he knew he was just grasping at straws. The reality was he was looking for distractions.

The deal with Sascha had, in fact, been a lot more complicated than they had first expected.

His younger brother was, at present, potentially facing a 6-year prison sentence for the selling and trafficking of drugs for a Russian cartel based out of Boston.

Bucky and his family weren't even surprised. Angry, disappointed, and heartbroken, yeah; but not surprised.

It was amazing what could happen in a month, right?

He kicked off his shoes by the door with a yawn, stubbing his cigarette out in the ash tray he now kept on the table. He knew he had marking and grading and stuff to do but fuck it, he was tired, it was only 5:00, and he was pretty sure that new episode of Downton Abbey had come out last night and he'd missed it. So, deciding pretty fast what should take priority, he made himself some popcorn and collapsed down on the couch to watch it.

And then his phone rang.

Bucky groaned, planting the bag of popcorn on his lap and pressing pause on the TV before flipping his phone open and answering. "Hello?"

"Hi James, it's me."

"Nat," Bucky groaned, "why are you calling me on a Downton Abbey night?"

"Because I wanna talk to you. Can I come over?"

"Oh Jesus, has someone died?"

Bucky could almost picture her indignant expression over the phone. "Christ, James, no, of course not. I just think we should talk, is all."

Bucky rubbed at his eyes with a yawn. "This isn't about Sashie, is it? Because really, we all saw it coming, the trial's not for a few more weeks, and he'll probably only get 2 years anyway-"

" _What?"_

Bucky paused. "I take it that wasn't what you wanted to talk to me about."

"Sascha's going to _prison?!"_ Natasha shrieked at him down the phone, "and you didn't _tell_ me?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Like I said; we all saw it coming."

"Christ, well, now I'm definitely coming over. I'll be there in ten." She hung up.

Bucky sighed, dropping his phone down onto the couch beside him. He could get in a good seven minutes of Downton Abbey before Nat arrived anyway.

 

*

 

"Hold up." Steve interrupted his story, giving Bucky an incredulous look. " _That's_ your 'family matter'? That your brother might be going to prison? Buck, that ain't a _matter!_ What the fuck; why didn't you _say_ anything?!"

Bucky gave him a strange look. "It ain't your problem. Hell, it ain't even mine. We all got our shit, Steve, no need spreading it."

Steve just blinked at him in amazement, because wow, it was actually kind of hard to believe that he'd just said that. "Are you for real?"

"'Course?"

Steve sighed loudly. "Bucky. I can't even believe I have to say this right now, but it's _absolutely_ okay to for you to tell me this kind of stuff. Always. As your friend, or as your...  _whatever_. Whatever we are. You _can_ talk to me."

Bucky seemed kind of surprised to hear this. They sat in silence for a minute, hearing Darcy bustle around some more in the kitchen.

Steve sighed. "At least that explains the smoking."

"You noticed?"

Steve gave him a look. "Of course I noticed."

"Aw, that's almost sweet."

"Almost?"

"Yeah, almost. The fact that I can hear your voice in my head frowning upon my choices is somewhat _less_ sweet." He offered Steve an innocent smile.

Steve grinned, glancing up to make sure Darcy wasn't looking before pressing a quick kiss to Bucky's temple. "I'm sorry, Buck. About your brother. That's shitty."

Bucky just dismissed it, but Steve didn't miss the light flush that spread down his neck. "Don't be. Can I get back to my story now?"

Steve smiled a little weakly. "Sure, pal."

 

*

 

True to her word, Natasha was outside his door in just under ten minutes. She let herself in, because for some reason she had managed to convince Bucky to give her a key, and once she was inside she went straight up to the couch and vaulted over the back of it, landing cross-legged next to Bucky. She hesitated for just a second before resting her head lightly on his shoulder, curling up against his side. Bucky found the warmth from her petite body oddly comforting, although he could think of another larger, blonder, more male person he'd quite like to take her place.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the latest episode of Bucky's new favorite show. 

"You smell like smoke," Natasha remarked eventually.

"That's cause I smoke."

She sighed. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Nothin' really to talk about. Like I said, it ain't a surprise."

"I guess not." She stole some of his popcorn. "How's the old lady?"

"Managing. She's amazing really."

"And pops?"

"Drinking his way through it." Bucky shrugged indifferently.

Natasha sighed again, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry."

"What? Don't be sorry, that's dumb. I'm barely even involved. It's Henry you should be sorry for, he has to deal with all the fallout at home; the rest of us escaped a _long_ time ago. And anyway, I thought you wanted to talk to me about something."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Well yeah, I _did_ , but-"

Bucky grinned encouragingly at her, twisting slightly on the couch to face his friend. "Then talk. I'm missing Downton for this bullshit, Nat, and I swear to god, it better be good."

His friend just shook her head at him, and Bucky could tell she wasn't quite ready to let it go. "We're having words about this later," she warned, before picking up the remote and pausing the TV on a particularly attractive frame of Dame Maggie Smith. "Okay, so, I gotta tell you something."

"Is it something I could get mad about?"

She hesitated.

Bucky raised his eyebrows. " _Natalia_ -"

"No," she spoke over him, "not really. Not seriously. But you might be a little pissy."

"Oh god, what did you do."

"Nothing!" Natasha protested, frowning at him. "Just shut up and let me talk!"

Bucky held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, alright, fine. Go ahead."

Natasha huffed haughtily at him. "Thank you. So, as you probably know by now, I've been... Seeing someone."

Bucky stared at her, a grin blossoming onto his face. "You're gonna tell me who?"

She glared at him. "Still talking, James. Shut up."

"Okay, sorry." He rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, I've been seeing this guy, and it was just pretty casual. Like, no strings attached kind of thing. Casual sex. And, like, it's been awesome, but..."

"I'm jealous."

"Shut up; but, the problem is, over the last couple of days, I think I might actually be starting to-"

"Like him," Bucky finished, giving her a knowing look. "I see."

"Right." Natasha shifted uncomfortably on the couch, hugging her arms to her chest. "And I don't know what to do."

She looked so vulnerable there, in that moment, that Bucky actually smiled, pulling her into a tight hug. "You don't need to look so traumatised, Natalia. Jeez, so you have feelings for this guy, big deal. Maybe he feels the same. Maybe you should ask."

Natasha gaped. "Are you kidding? No way, James, I can't do that. It was just supposed to be casual, I can't just drop the bomb on him like that, that's not cool."

"Do you think he might like you back?"

Natasha groaned. "James-"

"That's a yes, then; Nat, look at me for a second. Stop rolling your eyes. Nat, _you_ came over here for _my_ help, stop it."

"I really like him, James," she whined, curling up in a ball and letting her head collapse onto his chest. "I hate it, it's a shitty feeling. I'd rather hate him."

"No you wouldn't."

"I really would."

"You don't mean that."

"I do; love is for children."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "So embrace your inner child; heaven knows, it'd probably do you good."

Natasha frowned. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"You're always up my ass, it'd probably do you some good to admit to having feelings for someone."

"He'd probably get all weird about it and take off," Natasha complained into Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky sighed, wrapping an arm around her. "Nat, he probably wouldn't. You're beautiful, and smart, and funny, and tough, and just amazing in general. He'd be lucky to have you."

"Why did I let this happen?"

"Because deep down you wanted it to."

"Bullshit! What I have with Clint is just supposed to be a casual relationship for hookups and stuff, not-"

 

*

 

" _Clint?!"_ Steve interjected, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. "Hold on, _Bucky_ , did you just say _Clint?_ Clint _Barton?_ Natasha's screwing _Barton?!"_

Bucky laughed, jabbing at his arm. "Shut up and let me finish my story."

 

*

 

" _CLINT?!"_ Bucky interrupted Natasha with a surprised half-yell, eyes practically bugging out of his head.

Natasha had gone wide-eyed too, and was keeping her mouth firmly shut.

"YOU'RE SLEEPING WITH _CLINT?!_ "

" _James,_ this is _top secret_ -"

" _JESUS CHRIST, NATALIA!_ " 

Nat chewed guiltily on her lip. "I didn't mean to say that. Please don't tell him I told you-"

"YOU'VE _BOTH_ BEEN HIDING THIS FROM ME? OH MY GOD, _PLEASE_ TELL ME YOU DIDN'T FUCK ON MY COUCH LAST WEEK."

Natasha snorted.

"OH MY _GOD_." Bucky groaned loudly as he slid off the couch and onto the floor, pretending to shiver in disgust.

" _Technically_ we didn't-"

" _No_ , oh my god, I actually don't wanna know what you did. I've changed my mind. Please don't tell me," he complained from the floor.

Natasha just grinned as she rested her feet up on him. 

"How long have you two been keeping this from me exactly?!"

"Almost a month."

"A _month_ -"

"James, it wasn't serious. We were just fooling around."

Bucky sighed deeply, massaging his temples. "Why am I always the last person to know these things."

"You're the first person to know," Natasha pointed out, raising her eyebrows.

"I might as well be the last! A month, Nat. You kept this hidden from me for a _month_. _Both_ of you."

"It was none of your fucking business!"

"True," Bucky argued back, "but you're s'posed to tell me everything! I thought that was our deal!"

"That was our deal _eight years ago_ , yeah!"

Bucky gave her a hurt frown. "You've injured my ego."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Oh for god's sake."

"No seriously, Nat. You've hurt me."

"You're a child."

"Your mom's a child."

Natasha let out a long-suffering sigh. "James… _Bucky_. Please just talk to me like an adult on this, okay? I really need your help."

Bucky grinned as he got off the floor and collapsed back down beside her on the couch. "Hey, Nat, come on. You already know what I'm gonna say, because I've said it before, and I _know_ deep down you agree with me."

"I can't _tell_ him-"

Bucky shrugged. "I think you'll regret it if you don't."

"Will I?"

"Probably. I mean, think about it. You like him. A lot. Even if you don't tell him, those feelings won't go away. So from where I stand, you have two options."

"Which are?"

Bucky put a gentle hand on her shoulder, giving her a knowing smile. "Either you say nothing, the feelings get worse anyway, and you end up having to break it off; or you tell him. If he doesn't reciprocate, which he will, then things end between you like they would have anyway if you hadn't spoken out. Or, he _does_ , and maybe you go out for drinks and a movie. To be honest, Nat, you've got nothing to lose."

"I've got a lot to lose."

"You've got more to gain, though."

"Bucky, I _work_ with him! What if it doesn't… You know, work out?"

Bucky just smiled. "But what if it does?"

Natasha chewed her lip as she looked up at him, and Bucky could see her calculating the pros and cons of each scenario in her head as she stared at him.

"You give kinda good advice when you're not being a perverted douche lord."

"Gee, thanks."

"Can you keep this whole conversation a secret?"

"Of course."

"You promise?"

"I promise. But can I tell Steve?"

Natasha only hesitated for a second, before rolling her eyes and caving. "Yeah, okay. Sure. Just… Don't tell Clint you know."

"You have my word."

 

*

 

"If it's such a huge secret then why did she let you tell me?" Steve pointed out, raising an eyebrow. "That doesn't make any sense, Bucky, I'm not as close to her as you are."

Bucky frowned. "Because I trust you, and more importantly _she_ trusts you, and we know you won't tell anyone. And I needed someone to talk to about this, it was just too huge."

"But Bucky-"

Bucky huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes as he let his head drop onto Steve's shoulder. "Stevie, here's the thing. Natalia doesn't want people to see her as anything less than she is- sharp, deadly, intimidating and a small bit terrifying, right?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Right."

"She doesn't want people looking at her and just seeing a sexy redhead with a faint Russian accent, because she knows- and her friends know- that she's so much more than that, but because of this bullshit sexist society not many people get a chance to see it. She doesn't wanna be known as the girl who sleeps around the workplace, okay? That's why this is a secret. And that's why she trusts you with it. You're not the kinda guy that sees people like that."

"That's… Actually kinda nice."

Bucky beamed. "Right?"

Steve rolled his eyes, grinning. "So. Barton, huh?"

"Looks like."

There was no one else in the staff room anymore; Steve hadn't noticed Darcy leaving, but at some point during Bucky's story she evidently had.

"Do you think she'll tell him?"

Bucky shrugged, rolling his eyes as he lifted his head off Steve's shoulder and got to his feet, stretching. "I dunno. I'd like to think she would, but..."

"Pride?"

"Not so much pride, just, she doesn't wanna screw things up."

"That's fair."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed, "I guess it is." He twisted around on the spot as he tried to stretch out his back, and Steve couldn't really help it as his eyes drifted down to Bucky's ass in the fitted suit pants he was wearing-

"Oi," the other man smirked, "my eyes are up here."

"Sorry," Steve said automatically, flushing as his eyes immediately snapped back to Bucky's grinning face.

"No, dude, I was kidding. Stare at my ass all you want."

Steve sighed, rolling his eyes. "You're a dick."

"Yours is interested."

Steve couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips, as much as he wanted to. " _Bucky!"_

Bucky smirked. "What?"

A harried-looking Coulson barged in, cell phone pressed to his ear as he quickly set about making himself a coffee.

"Everything ok, Phil?" Steve asked in concern, raising an eyebrow.

"What? Oh, sorry. Not really, no. There's been some confusion with a shipment of textbooks that was supposed to come in on Friday, but it was moved and they've ended up in Michigan."

"Michigan?"

"Michigan." Coulson confirmed. He gestured to the phone with the spoon in his other hand. "I've been on hold for almost an hour."

"Shit," Bucky commented, nodding slightly.

"Tell me about it," Phil sighed, dropping the spoon he was using to stir his coffee into the sink. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I gotta dash. Bye guys."

"Later," Bucky nodded.

"Bye," Steve said at the same time.

Coulson practically fell out of the room.

"He looked dead exhausted."

"Yeah," Steve agreed with a nod, "Poor guy."

Bucky busied himself with organising his papers on the table in the kitchen; Steve knew he had a lesson to teach next period and he was probably just putting stuff in the right order.

"So I'm free tonight," Bucky said conversationally, and Steve didn't miss the hopeful note in his tone as he folded his arms, turning to look expectantly at Steve. "Maybe you could come over…?"

Steve grinned. "You know, I actually think I can."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I don't see why not."

Bucky snorted. "Got nothing better to do, huh?"

Steve grinned widely up at him. "Nah. I'll let you know if I get a better offer."

Bucky laughed, and Steve found himself smiling widely back. God, this man turned him into such a smiley ball of useless.

"Okay, well, if nothing else comes up, how's mine at 7 sound?"

Steve smiled. "It sounds great, Bucky. Need me to bring anything?"

"Uhh, pizza."

Steve snorted. "Anything else?"

"Condoms."

Steve went scarlet. He opened his mouth to reply but found he was incapable, and instead he just stood there in somewhat stunned silence as Bucky's grin grew so wide that it resembled the English Channel.

"Too presumptuous?"

"Nope," Steve managed to squeak out after a couple of seconds. "No, I'll… I'll do that."

Bucky laughed, collecting his folders in his arms. "Right. I gotta go, Steve, I'll see you later. Unless you get a better offer, that is."

"I definitely won't."

Bucky was still laughing when he walked out of the room.

Natasha frowned at the giggling man as he slid past him and into the staffroom, heading straight for the coffee machine, as most people seemed to. She raised her eyebrows when she caught sight of Steve's scarlet cheeks.

"He hit you with RPG-sized innuendos?"

"Not so much innuendos."

"Ah."

Steve cleared his throat, pretending to go back to his book, and thoughts definitely not lingering on what may or may not occur when he went over to Bucky's that evening.

"Did he tell you about the thing?"

"What th- oh, that," he nodded slowly as Natasha stared almost daringly straight at him. "Yeah, he mentioned… That."

"And?"

Steve frowned. "And what?"

"Do you think he's right?"

Steve held up his hands. "Tasha, hey, I ain't getting involved with _any_ of this. You do what you think is best for you, okay? That's all that matters."

"You totally agree with James."

"I never said that-"

"You're sleeping with him, so you totally do."

Steve flushed. "'M not sleeping with him," he muttered, trying to hide his face behind his book.

"You what?"

"I said I'm not sleeping with him."

Natasha stared. "Oh. Really?"

"Yeah, really."

"Are you gonna?"

"This is so none of your business."

"Aw come on, Rogers, indulge me a little." Natasha flounced over to him, resting her cup of coffee on the table before collapsing down onto the couch beside him and smirking. "Do you wanna sleep with him? And, just so you know, if you refuse to answer, then that's a yes."

"I'm not gonna answer that."

"So that's a yes then. Why haven't you screwed already anyway? He's totally into you. Didn't you go out?"

Steve's cheeks were burning. "We haven't had the time, okay? We're both busy."

"So? A hummer in the supply closet or something would only take, like, ten minutes-"

" _Natasha_ ," Steve squeaked, "oh my god, _stop talking_."

"Why? That's not even personal, that's just a fact."

"We're _at work!_ I don't wanna talk about sucking Bucky's dick at work! There are _kids_ here!"

"Morning," Stark interjected cheerfully as he came bouncing in through the door. "What're we talkin' about, ladies?"

"Nothing," Steve said quickly, at the same time Natasha said, "coffee."

Tony raised his eyebrows. "Sounds like a truly invigorating conversation, guys, it really does."

Steve let out a sigh of relief as Tony turned away from them and began to fiddle about with the microwave. He tensed up again immediately as Natasha prodded his side with a surprisingly strong finger.

"When're you gonna sleep with him?" She prompted quietly into his ear, and Steve could practically _hear_ her smirk. "It's obvious you wanna. And he has since he met you, so don't play that card on me, Rogers."

"Tonight," Steve couldn't help but snap, and he regretted it almost as soon as he'd said it. "Okay? Tonight."

Natasha let out a squeal of delight, and that drew Tony's attention like a hawk.

"What? Why are we squealing? What's tonight? Did Fury give out the Christmas bonuses already, or is something going on that nobody's telling me about?"

"I'm gonna be late for a meeting," Steve announced loudly over Tony's questions, getting to his feet and tucking his book away into his bag. "I'll see you guys later."

"Byeee!" Came Natasha's smug, sing-song voice as he made a beeline for the exit, ignoring Stark's stream of irritating clever words.

_Will Bucky mind that I sort of told Natasha about our plans for later?_

Steve pondered this as he jogged up the stairs, heading for Fury's office. He really _did_ have a meeting. 

 _Yeah,_ he decided eventually. _He'll probably mind._

_Whoops._

 

*

 

"You're a dick," was the first thing that came out of Bucky's mouth when he opened the front door to see Steve standing there with two boxes of pizza in his arms. "Nat's been bugging me all afternoon. I hate you."

Steve snorted, raising his eyebrows. "Then I'll just take this pizza someplace else-"

"Nononono," Bucky laughed, grabbing Steve's arm and pulling him inside. "I'm hungry, gimme."

Steve laughed, stumbling slightly as Bucky dragged him over to the table. He was wearing another one of his stupidly adorable grandpa sweaters that Bucky found himself becoming more and more attracted to (and that definitely wasn't a good sign; they were _grandpa_ sweaters).

"Hey, you've been using the piano."

"What?" Bucky glanced up at it, feeling his cheeks flush, and suddenly realising that in his… Anticipation, for the evening that he'd forgotten to put away the sheet music he'd been using the night before. "Uhh, yeah. Just practising I guess. It all came back a little easier than I thought it would." 

Steve smiled brightly, and Bucky found himself hypnotised by it.

"You said you'd play for me some time."

Bucky grinned. "And you said you'd draw me something; I have yet to see evidence of that, huh? Now c'mon, I'm hungry, can we eat this?" 

Steve laughed, rolling his eyes as he dropped the pizzas on the table and swung his backpack off his shoulders and onto the floor. "Sure, Buck, whatever you want."

That made him stop for a moment. Bucky paused to look up at Steve, forehead crinkling. "Well what do _you_ want?"

"Huh?"

"You said 'whatever you want', like you were trying to appease some chick. So what do _you_ wanna do."

"Just eat the fucking pizza," Steve grinned, shaking his head in amusement at him, but no, something didn't feel right with that.

"No," Bucky protested, frowning up at him. "I don't wanna be the girl you gotta please."

"You're not a girl, Bucky."

"Exactly! So don't treat me like one!"

"I'm… I'm confused."

Bucky sighed loudly. "Don't just say 'whatever you want' like that, okay? 'S not cool."

"I thought you wanted to eat the pizza? I literally don't understand." In Steve's defense, he did look _very_ confused, but Bucky wasn't gonna back down.

"Maybe I'm sick of calling the shots, okay?"

"What do you mean?"

Bucky crossed his arms. "I mean, like, I _always_ make the decisions. I'm always the one to kiss you, or make plans- you wouldn't even have asked me out if I didn't practically _dare_ you to. Steve, man, come on, a little _dominance_ on your part would be nice."

Steve raised his eyebrows. "You want me to push you around?"

"I dunno," Bucky muttered aggressively, shrugging his shoulders, "I guess."

"That's… An odd request."

Bucky frowned up at him. "Shut up."

Steve was actually grinning, damn him. "You're mad at me because I don't take charge enough?"

"Wipe the fucking grin off your face, Rogers."

"No, this is awesome."

"Stop smiling at me."

"No!"

" _Steve_."

Steve was grinning down at the floor, shoulders shaking with barely-disguised silent laughter. "You're amazing."

Bucky glared at him. "What?"

"You're really, really amazing."

"You need to shut the fuck up right now, Stevie, I'm mad at you, remember?"

"You're adorable when you're mad."

"Don't think I won't shoot you," Bucky warned, but Steve's stupid grin just grew impossibly wider.

"You're like a puppy."

"This is _incredibly_ patronising-"

"An adorable, harmless little puppy." There was a light in Steve's eyes, dancing with mirth.

"Call me adorable again and we're gonna have a problem," Bucky snapped, but the longer he watched Steve's face the longer he felt the grip of his irritation slip gently away.

"You," Steve said pointedly, taking a step forwards with a smug grin, "are adorable."

"You're a dead man," Bucky told him, unable to stop the grin that slid onto his face but doing his best to hide it as he shoved (not quite as violently as he could've) into Steve head-on, wrestling with his arms.

Steve didn't even stop laughing as Bucky managed to shove him against the back of the couch, tackling him onto the cushions.

And that was how they ended up lying in a tangled mess of limbs and Bucky's hair on the couch, giggling like children.

"You know," Steve said teasingly, letting his lips brush Bucky's temple as he spoke, "for a soldier you're not very threatening."

Bucky grinned, letting his head drop onto Steve's shoulder. "I've been out of the life for almost a decade. I was young enough for it not to affect me as much as it coulda."

"Eight years is not ' _almost a decade'_."

"Yeah it is."

Steve chuckled, rolling his eyes, but saying nothing in response.

They lay like that for a moment, lying half-entangled in eachother's limbs on the couch, too comfortable to even consider moving.

Eventually, it was Steve who broke the silence.

"Why did you leave the army?"

It was like a locked door had been opened to a reveal part of his brain that he hadn't even realized he was trying to keep shut away.

It all came flooding back; the rapid automatic gunfire, the screaming, the deafening sound of the IED that cost good men their lives and almost cost Bucky his arm. He could picture Jacques' face as clearly as if it were yesterday, eyes narrowed, jaw set and covered in blood, and he heard his own rough voice in his ear, shouting at his men over the roar of machine guns and the sound of a building crashing down around them:

'WE'VE BEEN COMPROMISED, WE HAVE TO GET OUT _NOW_. THEY CAN'T KNOW WE WERE HERE, YOU GOT THAT?'

He'd almost died that day. They all had. They'd blown a top-secret mission and seen something they really hadn't supposed to. 

"We were discharged," Bucky said after a moment, voice a lot quieter than he'd thought it would be. "Honorably, but still. All seven of us on the same day. My entire team."

"Why?"

Bucky let his head sink down to rest on Steve's chest as he sighed. "Because job security ain't something that was in our contracts."

Steve hummed his understanding. "Are you glad you left?"

Bucky had to think for a bit before answering. There were days, decreasing in frequency though they were, that he _did_ miss the military; the comradeship, the weight of a semi-automatic rifle in his dirty hands and people he trusted watching his back while he was out there making a difference. There were nights when he woke up in a cold sweat, expecting to feel a rock under his head where his pillow was supposed to be.

But Bucky didn't say any of that. He turned his head to grin at Steve. "This is a bit of a heavy conversation, isn't it?"

Steve, thankfully, didn't push it. He just laughed, lightly slapping Bucky on the arm. "I was just curious, jeez."

"You're almost as bad as Tony," Bucky teased.

Steve snorted. "Not _quite_ that bad, I hope."

"Not quite."

"He does ask some seriously stupid questions sometimes."

Bucky grinned. "My personal favourite was last week when he asked Clint if his hearing aids were a necessity or not."

He felt Steve's chest vibrate with his laugh. "Was _that_ why Barton punched him?!"

Bucky smirked. "That'd be why alright."

" _Amazing,_ " Steve snickered, shaking his head. "Were you there?"

"Yep, saw the whole thing."

"Damn, I wish I'd've seen that."

Bucky grinned smugly at him. "I've got a photo of Tony on the floor afterwards."

"You do?!"

"Oh yeah."

Steve's grin threatened to conquer his entire face. "Show me. Right now."

"Won't they hurt your innocent brain?"

Steve snorted. " _Fuck_ no. Gimme."

Bucky laughed, hopping up and heading over to retrieve his phone from the kitchen table. He slid back onto the couch beside Steve with the phone in his hands as he flicked through his camera roll photos, grinning.

"Wait, was that it there?" Steve wrapped an arm around Bucky's waist, craning over his shoulder to get a better look.

"No, that was me and Jim wrestling a couple weeks ago. Oh oh oh, here it is-" He held up the phone to show Steve.

Bucky genuinely thought Steve was going to have a heart attack. He threw his head back with laughter, hand clapping over the left side of his chest, and Bucky couldn't help but grin widely as he watched. The man next to him was literally the sun personified.

"Oh my god," Steve was wheezing, "his _face_ …"

Bucky was laughing too now. "Gee, Steve, never pegged you for an asshole…"

"Are you kidding? Stark _totally_ deserves it, this is the greatest day of my life." He wiped a tear out of the corner of his eye, still smiling widely. 

"You _are_ a dick," Bucky laughed. "I'm actually kinda relieved."

Steve winked at him, grinning. "Hey, one of us has to be the guy of the relationship."

"I thought we were both guys, I thought that was the point of this."

Steve laughed, and suddenly their faces were a lot closer together, their noses practically touching. "Of course not, didn't you hear? Even in homosexual relationships, there has to be one of us as a 'girl' and the other one's a guy. That's how it works."

Bucky rolled his eyes with a grin. "Heteronormacy at it's finest."

Steve smirked. "I didn't even know you could use such big words, is it a struggle?"

Bucky snorted. "You're a dick."

"You're a hypocrite."

"Oh, and why's that?"

"You're the one that _took_ the photos of Tony on the floor. You can't go calling _me_ a dick."

Bucky laughed, and he felt Steve's forehead lightly press against his. Their lips were only centimetres apart now, and if Bucky wanted then all he'd have to do was just lean forwards oh so slightly-

"The pizza's getting cold," he said in a low voice, looking up at Steve through his eyelashes with a teasing grin.

He felt the warmth of Steve's laugh on his cheek. "We can reheat it later."

And then Steve's mouth was on his, and Bucky forgot about all about the goddamn pizza.

Steve's fingers weaved into his hair and tugged him closer, licking into his mouth, and Bucky let out a groan that he hadn't been aware he was trying to hold back. He shifted so he was hovering directly over Steve's lap on the couch, cupping his face with his hands, and he could feel Steve shudder under him as their hips slotted together.

Bucky hesitated for a second, breaking their kiss for just a moment. "Not good?"

"Very good." Steve was tugging on his hair again and their lips crashed together, Bucky letting his teeth gently bite down on Steve's lip just hard enough to elicit a soft moan.

His heart felt like it was about to crash out of his chest and he could feel every last atom of oxygen slowly leaving his body but fuck breathing, it wasn't necessary, and honestly, if this was what dying felt like, Bucky was definitely 100% okay with it.

He was kind of starting to _love_ the way Steve kissed; the way that it was careful and intimate and hungry and possessive all at the same time. Steve let one hand trail down Bucky's chest, fingernails catching in the thin fabric of his shirt. Bucky groaned, feeling Steve's tongue hot and heavy in his mouth, and he felt his already half-hard dick give an interested twitch under his jeans. 

And alright, Steve had clearly felt that, because not even a second later he was being pushed off, up onto his feet, and Bucky didn't even have time to do anything other than make a surprised yelping sound before Steve's mouth was back on his and he was being crowded up against the wall beside his bedroom door.

One of Steve's hands locked itself in Bucky's hair and the other slid down to his hips, pinning him against the wall. Bucky grasped hold of Steve's waist and slammed their bodies together and shit, he was just as hard as Bucky was, and this was definitely about to get interesting.

"Bedroom," Steve gasped against Bucky's mouth, and Bucky couldn't help but smirk against his lips. "Now."

"Are you kidding?" Bucky breathed, watching as Steve's eyes darkened with want. "Some of the best sex I ever had was up against a wall."

"You're such a shit," Steve groaned, but then they were kissing again, pressed up against each other with Bucky's back to the wall. Steve's tongue forced into Bucky's mouth and curled filthily around his, teeth knocking together in a way that should've been uncomfortable but under the circumstances was possibly the hottest thing that Bucky'd ever experienced.

Bucky slid one hand up under Steve's stupid sweater and let his fingertips trace across his stomach, digging into the lines of muscles which were _so fucking defined_ and definitely not helping Bucky's downstairs situation.

Steve let out a huffed sound of frustration, letting go of Bucky completely and tugging his sweater over his head in one quick, graceful movement.

"Better?!"

" _Yes_ ," Bucky affirmed breathlessly, grabbing Steve by the shoulders and slamming his mouth against Steve's laughing one. They kissed messily for a second before Bucky shoved Steve away for long enough to discard his own shirt.

"This is getting interesting."

Bucky laughed breathlessly. "Wanna back out?"

They stood mere inches apart, both shirtless, chests heaving as they tried to catch their breath, and Bucky didn't even have to glance down to know that Steve was definitely just as hard as he was. 

The blond snorted. "Fuck, no." Then his hands were all over Bucky's chest as his mouth locked onto his, tongues twisting together in some kind of R-rated dance, and Bucky could taste coffee and toothpaste and heat and want and _him_.

Steve gasped audibly as Bucky pulled back with a wet sound, kissing down along his jaw and down to his neck. He heard Steve groan his name as he rolled his hips, grinding his crotch against Steve's.

His lips were attached to Steve's collarbone now, fingers digging into the bones of his perfectly defined hips. Steve's breath stuttered against his neck as Bucky groaned into his skin, letting his tongue experimentally flick out and caress Steve's collarbone.

"Fuck, Bucky," came the gasp in reply as Steve's eyes fluttered shut and his head fell back with a moan. Bucky found himself smiling against Steve's skin. He grabbed at Steve's neck with one hand, forcing his mouth down to meet his in a bruising kiss, while he slid his other hand between their hips and pressed the heel of his palm against the firm line in Steve's jeans.

Steve _whined_ , practically coming apart beneath him, and the sound alone was enough to send a jolt of electricity down Bucky's spine. 

"Were you serious?" Steve gasped against his mouth as Bucky let his teeth graze against his lip. "About the best sex you ever had being against a wall?"

"Yeah," Bucky breathed back, air rushing out of him all at once as Steve's fingers pulled roughly at his hair, forcing him against his mouth.

"Okay," came the gasped response, and Bucky's heart thrummed loudly against his ribcage as Steve sucked on his bottom lip before pulling away with a flash of a smirk. "I'm taking that as a challenge."

"What-" Bucky's vision clouded over as Steve dropped to his knees in front of him without hesitation, without even blinking, fingers fumbling with Bucky's belt buckle. He snatched at the zipper, tugging his pants down to his knees. "Steve," Bucky managed to gasp out, eyeing the man on the floor with an expression of combined shock and awe, because holy fuck, he was about to get his dick sucked by the most attractive human being alive. Except maybe Natasha. But no, he was _not_ going to think about that now.

"You _did_ say I should take control more," Steve explained with a smug grin, clearly revelling in the expression on Bucky's face.

Bucky didn't even get a chance to reply before Steve was pulling down his boxer briefs and sucking Bucky's dick into his mouth.

Bucky let out a soft, wet moan of pleasure as his hips fell shamelessly forward towards Steve's mouth. His fingers found their way into Steve's hair and he gripped it tightly, letting his head fall sloppily back against the wall as his eyes slid shut because Christ, he was going to die. He was actually going to die.

The man on the floor let out a low, gravelly laugh that vibrated around his entire body and sent shivers of pleasure up to Bucky's brain, where he promptly almost lost consciousness for a second because wow, _wow_ , Steve was good at this, and how much practise had he _had_  at this exactly?! Steve's fingers gripped around what he didn't have in his mouth and moved carefully, painfully slowly, in time with his tongue, and if Bucky died a little bit inside every time he felt Steve's teeth brush past his skin then nobody needed to know about it.

" _Steve_ ," Bucky gasped out as the blond hollowed out his cheeks, tongue flicking at the head of Bucky's dick with a smug look in his eyes, like he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. "This is _unholy_ …"

Steve pulled back with a messy pop, and Bucky let out a sharp whine at the loss, frowning down at Steve, who was grinning wickedly up at him.

"Anyone ever tell you you're a massive fucking tease?"

Steve had the audacity to laugh. "Yeah," he smirked, "on a few separate occasions, actually." And then his blond head was ducking down again and _jesusfuckingchrist_ Steve was _deepthroating_ him right down to the base, like they do in fucking _porn,_ and while Bucky would absolutely not want to make a habit of this explosive and  _painful_ pleasure it was definitely okay that Steve was doing it, _definitely_ okay, _definitely_.

If Bucky thought he was dying before, that was nothing compared to how he felt now, because oh my god did Steve even _have_ a gag reflex, this should be impossible it should really, really be impossible-

The noise that Steve managed to draw out of Bucky was obscene, and he felt his knees tremble slightly as he was forced to brace his back against the wall, a light sheen of sweat covering his face as he gasped out for breath. The pressure in his chest just mounted higher and higher as his brain tried to keep up with Steve's _literally fucking impossible pace,_ and it's like he's living a porno because Steve is _good_ at this, _really_ good at this, and Bucky felt like he might just spontaneously combust with the intense pressure that just won't stop building.

"Stevie," he gasped out with a loud groan, "I'm… 'M gonna…"

It wasn't until he opened his eyes on a whim and looked down that the pressure released.

The sight of Steve on his knees on the floor in front of him, sweat dripping in beads down his chest, with Bucky's fingers tangled in his hair and his red, swollen lips wrapped around Bucky's dick is definitely what does it. His chest exploded, and Bucky let out a half-shocked gasp as his release charged through him like an electric shock, completely draining him of any and all energy he had left. His eyes fell shut again as his head knocked against the wall, gasping for breath, as he felt Steve's tongue carefully caress the head of his dick one last time before pulling away with a wet _pop_.

Bucky didn't even think about it as he snatched out for Steve's shoulders, hoisting him upright and pulling him into a long, deep kiss.

"You," he managed to breathe out after a few seconds, chest still heaving, "are something else. Really."

Steve grinned, and Bucky thought he actually looked a little bashful, which was ironic considering that he'd just done a better job of sucking Bucky's cock than the pornstar he'd dated back in 2012.

"Thanks?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, reaching down to tug his jeans and underwear up to his hips before sliding a hand meaningfully down Steve's chest. "My turn- although, I have to say, I think I've been outperformed already. I'm a little embarrassed."

Steve laughed breathlessly as Bucky sank down to his knees, smirking. "Don't underestimate yourself."

Bucky grinned as he made fast work of Steve's belt and zipper. "I don't."

Five minutes later, Steve just about managed to gasp out a breathless, " _yes you do_."

 

*

 

"So… They're siblings? Twins?"

"Yeah."

"…And they're in love?"

"Well, yeah."

"Aaand she's the queen…?"

"For crying out loud, Steve, just watch the show."

Steve rolled his eyes, taking another bite of pizza, and Bucky forced himself to hold back a grin.

They were trying, once again, to watch Game of Thrones, because they hadn't got very far last time. Bucky was sitting cross-legged on the couch and Steve was lying stretched out across it, with his head in Bucky's lap. About ten minutes ago Bucky had started absently threading his fingers through Steve's slightly damp golden hair, and he hadn't really found due cause to stop just yet.

After some deliberation, they had decided that as they were adults, they should probably put pants on. Shirts, however, were optional, and so neither had elected to wear one. After clearing up their mess, Steve had gone to take a shower (" _Really_ , Bucky, that's disgusting, I feel gross if I don't shower after sex.") and Bucky had shoved the pizza in the microwave for 30 seconds to try and heat it back up again. Nothing had burned or caught fire, so Bucky was counting that as a success.

"You still smell like sex," Steve half commented, half complained as Bucky reached over his head for another slice of pepperoni.

"Your fault," Bucky shrugged. "You wouldn't even notice if you hadn't showered."

Steve crinkled his nose. "I'm pretty sure I would."

"Nah. Trust me on this, I'm good at science."

Steve grinned, rolling his eyes. "Right, obviously."

Bucky's phone started buzzing on the table, and he frowned at it for a moment. "Really? It's almost 1 in the morning. Why do people always call me at 1 in the morning, Steve. When did this become my life."

Steve laughed, snatching what left of his piece of pizza out of his hands and cramming it into his mouth before Bucky could grab it back. "Just answer the damn phone," he smirked around his food.

Bucky rolled his eyes, purposefully knocking Steve's head lightly with his elbow as he reached for his vibrating phone.

"Unbelievable," he sighed when he saw the caller ID and flipped open the phone. "I mean, of course. If it wasn't gonna be my mother, of _course_ it would be- Nat, _why_ are you calling me right now?"

"Are you busy?" His redhead friend sounded… Excited? Impossible. Nat didn't get excited.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at the TV he was still kind of watching. "Busy? Well, no, not technically, but-"

"Good. Can I come over?"

"Absolutely not," Bucky practically yelled, and he felt Steve jolt slightly in surprise. "I mean, uhh, no, you can't, because Steve's here."

"Oh god, I'm sorry, I didn't call you accidentally during sex again, did I?"

Bucky's lips pressed together in a thin line. "We swore not to talk about that."

"Whatever; okay, it's fine, I'll just pop around tomorrow afternoon or something. I've got something important to tell you."

"Can't you just tell me over the phone?"

"Nah, I'd rather do it in person." Bucky could hear a faint voice on the other end of the line, and then Natasha's muffled voice replying. He figured she must've put her hand over the receiver or something, because he couldn't for the life of him figure out what she was saying. "I'll see you tomorrow, James."

Bucky sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, okay. See you." He pressed the 'end call' button.

"Natasha?"

Bucky smiled slightly as he relaxed deeper into the cushions, Steve rolling onto his back to look up at Bucky properly. "How'd you guess?"

Steve grinned. "I just figured. She want to come over?"

"Mm. She said she had something to tell me, and she'd tell me when she saw me. I think she's gonna come over tomorrow."

Steve raised his eyebrows. "Was it about Clint?"

Bucky's eyes widened. "Oh my god, maybe!"

"Did she sound happy or sad?!"

Bucky thought back on it. "Kinda excited-"

"Maybe he asked her out!"

"Holy shit, I should call her back."

"Nonono," Steve was saying, snatching the phone out of Bucky's hands. "No, don't do that."

"Why not?" Bucky frowned in confusion.

Steve looked at him seriously. "Because then she knows you wanna know. And she'll come over. And as much as I love her, I don't want that to happen."

Bucky grinned widely at him. "What, you have plans or something?"

Steve flushed, but that didn't stop him from grinning back. "Well, I _did_ actually buy everything you asked me to arrive with."

Bucky waggled his eyebrows. "Everything?"

"Oh yes." 

Bucky laughed, ducking his head down to press a long, half-sideways kiss to Steve's mouth. He tasted like pizza. "Okay. No calling Nat."

"No calling Nat."

"Not even if I really want to know."

"Nope."

"Because she mightn't leave."

"Exactly."

Bucky grinned, letting one of his hands trace the thick lines of muscle across Steve's bare chest. "You're staying the night, right?"

Steve's cheeks actually darkened in colour, and Bucky's brain was having trouble functioning over that level of sheer adorable. "I was kinda hoping to-"

"Good," Bucky interrupted cheerfully, lightly slapping his fingers down on Steve's right pec. "So we have all night then. Here's the plan: we're gonna watch the next episode of this, and then we're gonna go to bed."

"Go to bed as in go to bed, or _go to bed?"_ Steve questioned with a quirked eyebrow, and Bucky didn't miss the sarcasm lacing his words.

He laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "What do _you_ think, punk. _Seriously_."

Steve snorted, rolling back over onto his side to watch the TV. "Just makin' sure we were on the same page."

"We're _definitely_ on the same page."

"Thank god for that."

  


	9. 'Tis the Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a series of one-shots surrounding Christmas time! almost disgustingly fluffy tbh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS I AM SO SORRY, I AM LITERALLY A PIECE OF SHIT. this chapter has taken forever to post but time just got away from me somehow idek. on the other hand this sort of accidentally became a really long chapter so yeah, enjoy it, and also i am so so so so sorry
> 
> -cat

From: Nicholas Fury  
Date: 20 December 2014 16:54:29 BST  
To: Staff  
Subject: Christmas party

Hello all,

As I assume you're already aware, **there will be no Christmas party for staff this year. At all.**  This is because of what went down last year, of course, so if any of you (Barton) have any complaints ( _Barton_ ) about the mysterious and sudden lack of holiday celebration then please direct them towards one Tony Stark, as this is entirely his fault. I'm sure many of you remember the complete disaster that was last year's staff party.

I repeat for emphasis, **no Christmas party**. If I see so much as a candy cane within a perimeter of fifteen yards of the school, I will personally track down and skin the culprit. You have been warned.

Fury

- 

From: Anthony Stark  
Date: 20 December 2014 17:03:21 BST  
To: Nicholas Fury  
Subject: RE: Christmas party

My dearest one-eyed companion,

Kinda pleased, kinda offended that you singled me out in your staff-wide email. We all know that party was a group effort. And I will have you know that last year's fireworks display went exactly according to plan.

Love and kisses,

Tony xxx

- 

From: Nicholas Fury  
Date: 20 December 2014 17:08:56 BST  
To: Anthony Stark  
Subject: RE: RE: Christmas party

I know, Tony. That's what I'm concerned about.

 

*

 

Steve felt like he was going to fall asleep as he leaned back in one of the IT lab's wheely chairs with a yawn, covering his mouth with his hand. He was bored, tired, and not too sure what was really going on.

He'd received an email from Tony Stark that morning, requesting his presence at an 'urgent staff meeting in the IT lab at lunchtime' without any specifics with regards to what this 'meeting' was about. It was just so painfully  _Tony_. 

Steve hoped they weren't going to be asked to do something illegal this time.

Across the room, Thor was watching him with an amused expression. "You are tired, Steven?"

Steve blinked bleary-eyed over at him. "Yeah, a bit. Didn't get a whole bunch of sleep last night."

"Why not?"

Images of last night flashed through his head; Bucky with beads of sweat dripping down his chest, his hands tightly knotted in his hair, laughing as-

He shrugged somewhat limply, clearing his throat. "Just didn't." Before he could make up some stupid lie, Clint walked into the room with Natasha by his side. They looked just as discontented with the situation as Steve felt.

Clint was the first to complain, which Natasha just looked bored. "Why has Tony called for an emergency club meeting in the computer room?"

"We're not a club, Clint," Natasha muttered under her breath.

Steve rolled his eyes, unable to stop the slight grin that twitched his lips. "Beats me. It's not even all the staff, though. It's just us, Stark, and-"

"Sorry I'm late," came Banner's apology as he slid into the room behind Barton and Natasha, wide-eyed and confused, as usual. "Where's Tony?"

"Beats me."

"What's all this about about?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "He just said it was an emergency."

"And it is," Tony Stark declared as he lightly shoved Bruce out of the way, heading (of course) for the middle of the room and perching himself on one of the desks. "Alright everyone, listen up, because this is important."

"It better be," Barton muttered as he collapsed into a wheely chair and propelled himself accidentally backwards about a foot. 

Natasha rolled her eyes before neatly sitting on a nearby table, folding her hands in her lap.

Banner looked bemused.

Thor looked _interested_.

"I have gathered you hear today to talk about something very important to me," Tony began in his Serious Business Person Voice. 

Natasha and Clint let out simultaneous snorts of laughter.

Tony glared at them both to be quiet. "As I was saying," he continued, "I think that something has to be done about this particular incident effective immediately, as it's wounded both my pride and my honour."

"Get to the point, Stark," Steve interrupted, raising his eyebrows. "We got work to do."

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Rogers, I'm getting to that," Stark chirped, and the withering glare Natasha gave him in response was enough to bring a grin to Steve's face."

"Tony," she said in a low, warning voice, and Tony flapped his arms a bit in her direction.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting there! Alright look, so here's the deal: Fury's cancelled my Christmas party-"

There was a loud, collective groan from everyone except Thor, who just looked upset.

"He did? I was not aware of this. I am sorry, man of iron-"

"Man of iron?" Banner interrupted, looking confused.

Stark grinned. "I told him I was a superhero with the power to turn myself into a metal rage monster, and my superhero name is Iron Man. Cool, right?"

"I'm in hell," Clint complained.

"Pointless," Natasha announced at the same time, pressing her fingertips to her temple.

"Anyway," Tony said loudly over the top of all of them, "I have a plan. We're going to avenge my cancelled party."

"We're gonna what," Steve said flatly, looking and feeling less than amused.

"Avenge it. You know, like-"

"We know what avenge means," Natasha interrupted.

"Right," Stark said with a roll of his eyes, "no need to get snippy, Romanoff, goodness me. Anyway, I just think that since Fury cancelled my staff party we should come up with a way to get our own back."

"I don't even know why I'm surprised anymore."

"Does Pepper know about this?"

"Can we get back to work now? I've actually got papers I need to grade by-"

"Nobody's going _anywhere_ until we come up with a plan to avenge my party!"

"None of us want to do that, Stark."

"But it'll be fun! Where's your Christmas spirit? What kind of American are you, Natasha?!"

"A Russian one."

Tony paused, digesting that. "Oh. Well. We've all got code names and everything! As a team, right, we're called The Avengers, because we're avenging, and-"

"Stark-"

"So Bruce's code name is Hulk, because-"

"I'm leaving, Tony."

"But _Natasha-"_

"Me too."

"This is fucking dumb. Nobody wants to avenge your shitty party and piss Fury off, okay, some things just aren't worth it."

"Amen to that, Banner."

"No wait! Guys! Come back!…Guys?"

 

*

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "The Avengers?"

Steve let out a deep, pained sigh, pressing his fingertips to his temples. "Yep. That's what he called it."

"That's… Hah, that's adorable."

Steve rolled his eyes, ignoring Bucky's giggling. "You're just jealous because he didn't invite you to the super secret club meeting."

Bucky grinned, jabbing him in the side. "You wish, pal. Now get out of my classroom, I've got to teach in five."

 

*

 

 

"Clint... _Please_ tell me you're joking."

"Why would this be a joke?" Barton actually looked _confused_.

Bucky wanted to scream. "Jesus Christ," he sighed as he let his face fall into his hands. "Because, you... No. Clint, just, no. You'd die. She would actually kill you."

"But-"

"For real. It's an awful idea."

"But everyone likes to play paintball," Clint shot back with a frown.

Bucky stared at him. "Barton. Nat's aim is just as good as yours, or mine, and she's _twice_ as competitive, and she's _ruthless_. Do you really think a membership to a paintball club is a good Christmas present for one of the greatest female assassins of our time?"

"I think it'd be a nice bonding experience."

Bucky let his head slam down onto the hard wood of the table. "Sweet lord, save us all."

"Sorry, what was that? I can't hear you. 80% deaf."

"I'm _not_ letting you pull that one on me again."

Clint just rolled his eyes with a smirk, slamming his laptop shut with a haughty look. "Fine, I'll just get her a necklace or something."

"That's probably for the best."

The pair were sitting opposite each other in Barton's kitchen, which for the record didn't look like it had been cleaned since Clint had started living there. There was a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, and takeout box after takeout box littered every available surface. Bucky had gotten the impression that cleaning his apartment wasn't very high on the librarian's radar.

But hey, who was he to judge. Sometimes, not that he'd ever admit it, he hoped Steve would pop by just to take out the trash so he didn't have to do it. Bucky knew he was a terrible person.

He pointedly ignored Clint's eye roll and pulled a half empty crumpled pack of Marlboros out of his pocket, dumping them on the table along with his lighter. "Hey Barton, can I smoke in here?"

"No skin off _my_ nose. Figure I owe you for giving up an afternoon anyways."

Bucky snorted, lighting up a cigarette and letting it hang lazily from his lips. "Damn right."

Clint had asked him to come over and help him pick out a gift for Natasha for Christmas, seeing as Christmas was in three days, and he'd left it- in Bucky's opinion- _way_ too late. But, after almost two hours of scrolling through web order catalogues on Clint's beat-up old laptop, they hadn't been able to come up with anything that even remotely stood out to either of them.

Clint and Natasha had been... Well, _undefinable_ , for almost two weeks. Clint swore- hands down- that they were dating, because they went on dates, but Natasha still seemed convinced that Clint was just screwing with her. Bucky found it pretty sweet, actually, that her complete bullshit denial had reached such a high level of nope.

If nothing else, it proved she cared.

And that was pretty nice.

School had broken up just the day before, and Bucky was _loving_ the leisure time. Last night, for example, had been awesome, because he had absolutely zero work to do. No marking, no lesson plans, nothing. He had hours in which to laze around Steve's apartment in nothing but his sweatpants, eating phish food icecream that he stole out of Steve's freezer. Steve certainly wasn't gonna eat it.

"You'll have a heart attack if you eat that entire container," Steve had said with a roll of his eyes, watching Bucky slink back to the couch with nothing but the tub and a spoon.

"So? Some things are worth the risk, Stevie."

"You're willing to die young for phish food?"

Bucky let out a purposely filthy moan as his lips closed around the spoon, letting his eyes flutter shut for just a second, and he felt a smug sense of pride as he watched Steve's adam's apple bob uncomfortably as he swallowed. He admired his restraint, really. If it had been _Steve_ on the couch seductively sucking the spoon into his mouth, Bucky would've been on that in seconds. "If you hate it so much then why do you buy it?"

Steve shrugged, returning to whatever he was doing on his laptop. "You like it."

Bucky had stopped teasing him, then, because that was actually really sweet.

Bucky's mind drifted absently back to the present. He watched Clint drum out a rhythm on the table with his fingertips, frowning thoughtfully down at a stray spoon lying abandoned on the tiled floor of the kitchen.

"Hey," Bucky said loudly, in an attempt to break the blond out of his train of thought. "Hawkeye, what gives? You're starin' at that spoon like it's your next fucking meal or something."

"Jus' thinking about Tash," Clint mused, fingers continuing to tap incessantly on the table. "I don't know a whole lot about her, Buck, I really don't. That's why I asked you to help. Does that make me a shitty boyfriend?"

Bucky raised his eyes at the b-word, exhaling a stream of smoke over his left shoulder as he replied in an airy tone, "Boyfriend, huh? You run that one by her?"

Clint flushed. "Not yet. I was gonna."

Bucky found himself grinning. "No need to look quite so scared shitless there, pal. I really don't think she'd mind, I was just messin'. And you don't need my help to get her a fucking Christmas present. I knew her best seven years ago, when we were pretty much kids, and all she enjoyed then was hustling pool and vodka. Get her something that'll make her think of _you_ ; not her weird European past."

Clint raised his eyebrows. "I wanna hear more about the hustling pool story."

Bucky snorted, crushing his cigarette out on the sole of his boot before throwing the butt into one of Clint's many piles of garbage. His friend didn't seem to mind. "Get her within ten feet of a table and she'll show you herself."

"What are you getting Steve? You've been together about as long as we have." Oh, so Clint was still occupied with Christmas presents.

Bucky sighed loudly. "First of all, no we haven't, and second, Clint, buddy, you need to just... Man, just _relax_ a little. Whatever you get her, she's gonna love it."

"What if she doesn't?"

Thankfully, Bucky's cell phone chose that moment to start buzzing disruptively on the table. He was glad of the excuse not to respond. He snatched the phone up and flipped it open, rolling his eyes at Clint as an apology as he spoke into the microphone, "hello?"

"Hey Buck it's me, you left your belt in my bathroom this morning."

Bucky grinned at the casual, matter-of-factness of Steve's tone. "Oops."

"Do you wanna..." Steve cleared his throat, and Bucky could practically _hear_ his blush through the damn phone. When he resumed speaking his voice was more business-like, but there was definitely a twinge of hopefulness in his tone. "Do you wanna swing by a little early maybe and pick it up?"

Bucky groaned, wishing he had a different answer. "I really wish I could, but I'm actually still at Clint's."

"Oh." There was a small pause, and then: "Did you find anything for Tasha?"

Bucky sighed. "Nope, not yet." He glanced up and caught Clint looking at him. ' _Steve_ ', he signed with one hand, as he continued to talk into the phone, "Any bright ideas?"

"Afraid not. Maybe a pet snake or something."

Bucky snorted. "She'd probably love that."

"Love what?" Clint hissed.

Bucky rolled his eyes and put Steve on speaker. "Stevie, you're on speakerphone now. Barton wants to hear your great idea."

"Pet snake," Steve repeated in a surprisingly even tone, and Clint let out a snort of laughter.

"Yeah, right. Maybe I should get her a kitten."

"No cats," Bucky spoke over him in a decisive tone, and Steve laughed at him through the phone.

"I'll leave you two to figure something out. You gonna come by later still, Buck?"

"You bet." Bucky ignored Barton'a kissy faces at him as he returned the cell phone to his ear. "Remember our deal with the pizza."

"Nothing with pineapple or mushrooms or you'll clear my Netflix queue, I know. You're a jerk for even going that far."

Bucky grinned. "Later, punk."

"Later." Bucky ended the call.

Clint was still smirking at him after he'd replaced his phone on the table and happened to glance up. "What?"

"Dude, you two are so married."

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"Like, you guys act like a fucking married couple who've known each other for years. It's hard to believe you met three months ago."

"Four," Bucky corrected with a grin.

"Whatever, you pedantic ass. You guys are totally perfect for eachother."

Bucky may have snickered as Clint flicked a piece of crumpled paper at him, but he couldn't help but agree with him. Steve was definitely a person he could see himself with in two, five, ten years time.

The thought scared him a little.

By the time Bucky had dragged himself out of his little existential crisis, Clint had already opened his laptop and returned to, it seemed, searching for a gift for Natasha.

"Barnes," he said after a moment, making Bucky look up, "What do you think about rollerblades?"

 

*

 

Bucky blinked in confusion at the Starbucks drink being offered to him the second Steve stepped through his front door at 5:00 on the night before Christmas Eve. "What's this?"

Steve pratically beamed at him. "It's a gingerbread latte!"

"...For me?"

"Mhm! You'll love it. They only do them around Christmas time, they're amazing."

Bucky hesitantly lifted the cup out of Steve's outstretched hand, crinkling his nose at it. "I don't like lattes, Steve."

Steve gave him a look. "Try it? Please?"

Bucky made the mistake of looking up at him, and god fucking damn it, he couldn't say no to Steve 'a big, innocent puppy eyes. "Fine," he grunted as Steve shucked off his coat and let his bag drop to the floor, walking through the hallway and collapsing on Bucky's couch in front of the TV. "But it better be worth it."

Steve'a expression lit up again as Bucky followed him through to the other room. "It is," he promised from the couch.

Steve looked good, Bucky noticed. Well, he always looked good, but today he looked especially good. He was wearing grey sweatpants, similar to Bucky's except they weren't black (and really, that was the only way they could tell their stuff apart- Steve's clothes were slightly larger, and all of Bucky's were black), a white t-shirt that was rucked up slightly around his stomach, and his hair was curling slightly around the sides, like he'd slept on it wet.

But Steve was eyeing him expectantly as Bucky dropped down onto the couch beside him, latte in hand, so he reigned in his thoughts, sighed in resignation, and raised the lie of a coffee to his lips.

And, well.

It wasn't _awful_.

The pleasant surprise and genuine enjoyment must've shown on his face, because Steve was giving him a knowing smirk, and damn it if Bucky was letting him be right.

"Just how much sugar is in this thing?" He snarked at him, raising his eyebrows.

Steve just grinned straight back, shrugging easily. "No more than was in the entire cheesecake you finished off at Sam's the other day. In fact, marginally less."

Bucky just lifted his chin up in defiance, doing his best to ignore Steve's spreading smirk. "Well," he huffed, "I don't _hate_ it."

Steve gave him a smug look. "Told you it was good."

"Whatever," Bucky muttered as he went to take another sip. "Punk."

"Jerk. You gonna thank me or what?"

Bucky rolled his eyes.

Steve grinned back.

It never failed to surprise Bucky how naturally their relationship seemed to flow, like they didn't even need to try. It just came so easy to them, like breathing, like they were supposed to be together. Bucky supposed it was love. But he didn't dare say so.

"I have an idea," he announced after a minute of silence, placing the half-gone Starbucks in his hands down on his coffee table.

Steve raised his eyebrows at him. "Yeah?"

"Let's watch a Christmas movie."

Steve was grinning again. "Which Christmas movie?"

"I dunno," Bucky said happily, "any Christmas movie. There's gotta be some free ones on TV, right? There always is."

"Right," Steve agreed, laughing as he reached for the remote.

They eventually settled on _It's a Wonderful Life,_ and not because Bucky's a sap and he really loves that movie. It was the only thing on, okay?

"Buck, are you going home for Christmas?"

Bucky shook his head, crossing one leg over the other and settling deeper into the couch. "No, I don't think so. Not this year. We usually do big family Christmases and all that jazz, but I don't think Ma's feeling up to it this year. For obvious reasons."

He determinedly ignored the expression of sympathy on Steve's face.

"I know," Steve was saying suddenly, and he sounded so chipper that Bucky raised his eyebrows at him as he glanced over.

"What?"

"You can stay with me for Christmas."

"...What?"

"You can stay with me," Steve repeated.

"Um..."

"Just for, I dunno, let's say three days," Steve continued, oblivious to Bucky's confusion. "It'll be fun!"

Bucky said nothing, looking unsure. It wasn't that he didn't want to, because he did, it was just that he'd never really done that before. He'd never stayed with any one person for long enough to even spend _one_ entire night with them, let alone three, and over _Christmas_... Steve was the only person so far that he'd managed to stay over with until morning. And even then, the feeling of not going back to his own apartment, where he knew it was definitely safe and he was familiar with every noise and nook and cranny, crept into his thoughts to the point where he had to get up every few hours to scope the place out. Call it a military vice.

By now, Steve had noticed his silence. He flushed. "Uh, that is, if you want to. If you dont then it's fine."

"No," Bucky said quickly, "I do, I just... Are you sure?"

Steve gave him an encouraging smile. "Yeah. If you want."

Bucky considered it for a second. "Well okay," he said eventually, "if you're sure you don't mind. I'm kind of irritating."

The beaming grin he got from Steve in return made his decision worth it. "You're not _that_ irritating," Steve dismissed. "And it's only a couple days. Think of all the sex we'll be able to have." He winked, a teasing smirk plastered across his face.

Bucky snorted. "Oh, so it's not all about having my great company after all," he teased.

Steve laughed, lightly punching Bucky's shoulder. "It is a little," he conceded with a smirk. "Wouldn't want you thinking I'm only with you for your body, would I?"

"You are though."

"You're so full of yourself, Barnes."

"You've been pretty full of me, too," Bucky shot back with a wicked grin.

Steve went scarlet, and it was actually a little heroic how he managed to keep it together. "That's inappropriate," he managed after a few seconds, and it took all of Bucky's willpower not to straight up die with laughter.

"Sorry," he choked out instead, forcing back laughs, despite how his chest felt like it was actually going to explode with the pressure of holding in his amusement. This man really was something else.

Steve stared at him for a second, before clearing his throat. "Um. Are you gonna finish your latte?"

"No, you can have it."

Steve didn't ask twice; he grabbed it off the table and took a long sip. Bucky couldn't help but watch as the thick lines of muscle in his throat contracted when he swallowed, and when he ran his tongue across his bottom lip to clear up the small spot of cream left behind. Which he, incidentally, missed. Bucky didn't think Steve would half mind if he kissed it off.

Bucky stared shamelessly at his perfect mouth, even as Steve's attention returned to the TV. "You got a little cream on your lip," he pointed out eventually, somewhat against his better judgement.

Steve's tongue darted across his lips again, wiping up the cream and sucking it into his mouth. Bucky watched, entranced, and fuck, he wanted to kiss him.

"Did I get it?"

 _Damn._ "Yeah," Bucky just about managed, "you got it."

Steve's lips curved into a smile, then, and Bucky didn't even notice as Steve raised his eyebrows at him. "Then why are you staring at my mouth like I missed something? Did I miss something?"

"No," Bucky replied almost robotically, watching as Steve's red lips parted a little in a slight grin.

"Oh," he said innocently, and Bucky didn't miss the way he gently bit into his bottom lip before letting it slide out from his teeth in a smirk. God damn it, Steve was going to kill him. "Okay."

"I hate you," Bucky groaned as he leaned forwards.

Steve grinned. "Nah," he shrugged, "you don't." He closed the distance between them just enough for Bucky to slot their mouths together.

Steve's mouth was warm and wet and tasted like gingerbread coffee and Bucky found himself sighing into it, Steve's fingers tangling in his hair as his own hands slid up Steve's chest to cup either side of his neck and pull him in closer.

Their kiss wasn't urgent or needy; rather it was deep, slow, and lazy, like they had all the time in the world. When they finally pulled apart, his heart pounding, Bucky heard a low chuckle rumble from deep in Steve's chest.

Bucky grinned, letting his head fall back into the back of the couch as he watched him out of the corner of his eye. "What?"

"I don't think I'll ever get tired of kissing you."

And hell, if that didn't make Bucky want to do it again.

Steve made a muffled sound of surprise as Bucky slammed his mouth back against Steve's, pressing his lips apart with his tongue and enjoying the low moan it drew out of him in response.

One of Steve's hands slid up into his hair from behind, fingers tightening around it as he pulled Bucky closer, and Bucky was definitely happy to oblige, shifting so he was practically straddling Steve's lap. 

"Knew you'd like the coffee," Steve huffed out as Bucky ran his hands down his chest and rucked up his shirt enough to slip his fingers underneath, tracing the line of Steve's muscles on his skin.

"I still don't like lattes," Bucky started to say before Steve's lips found his again, drawing him in, and the rest of his sentence was swallowed up in a kiss.

And then Steve was shifting slightly underneath him so that their hips knocked together, and then there were hands at his belt, fumbling trying to get it undone, and the white hot flash of pleasure coarsing through him as the heel of Steve's hand pressed against his crotch was so distracting that Bucky didn't even notice the sound of a key twisting in the lock of his front door until the door itself had swung open. A petite redhead stood in the doorway, messenger bag over her shoulder, looking faintly surprised as she crossed her arms.

"Oh, you're busy. Sorry about that."

" _Natalia_ ," Bucky half yelled as Steve practically shoved him off his lap. He raced to do up his belt without looking, giving her what he hoped was a scorching glare. " _What the hell?"_

"Let's be honest," she stated calmly, flicking up a delicate eyebrow. "It could've been worse."

Steve was staring wide-eyed over at the redhead standing coolly in the door, cheeks slowly turning crimson, and Bucky couldn't even _begin_ to fathom why Natasha hadn't _knocked_ because if she'd only been a few seconds later she would've walked in on-

"We agreed you could only have that key if you _knocked_ before you used it! That was our deal!"

"Guess I'm not used to you actually doing stuff in here besides fucking around on that piano and smoking yourself to death."

" _Jesus!"_

"My bad."

_"I hate you!"_

Steve had now turned a very unique, particular shade of red that Bucky had never seen him go before.

"What, I said I was sorry." Natasha, seemingly unbothered, sashayed into the room in her skinny jeans and striped sweater, dumping her satchel on Bucky's coffee table and squeezing in between him and Steve on the couch.

Steve was very determinedly watching the TV.

Bucky just hid his face in his hands. "почему ты так со мной?" _Why are you doing this to me?_

"не будь таким королева драмы." _Don't be such a drama queen._

The three sat in awkward, awkward silence for a moment.

"James, you, uhh, have a bit of a downstairs situation."

_I'm gonna kill her._

He took a deep, calming breath, before responding in a level tone, "Yeah, Nat. I know. Thanks."

"Do you guys wanna... Finish?"

"Fuck you," Bucky groaned, at the same time as Steve made a choked sound that came out like a cry of a dying mammal.

"I'll take that as a no," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Why are you here?" Bucky interrupted, ignoring the way Natasha picked idly at her thumbnail like she hadn't just interrupted what could've been pretty good sex, and like Bucky wasn't about to rip off her own limbs and then beat her mercilessly with them. 

"Because I need your advice," she answered primly, crossing her legs and forcing Bucky to scooch over some on the couch. "Think you two can help me out?"

"Depends," Steve said warily, glancing across her to raise his eyebrows at Bucky. 

Bucky rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

Steve grimaced before continuing to address Natasha, "what is it?"

"I don't know what to get Clint for Christmas."

Not for the first time, Bucky wondered if he was living in a bad comedy movie.

 

*

 

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Bucky was pressing again as he followed Steve up the stairs to his apartment. Turns out it's elevators in general that Bucky has an aversion to, and not just the one in his building. Steve had asked him why, but he'd just said it was a story for another time. "You're really sure?"

"Yeah, Buck," Steve reassured his boyfriend (Could he call him that yet?) for the five hundredth time that afternoon. "Really. It'll be fun, why are you freaking out about this?"

"I'm not freaking out!"

"Yes you are; why are you freaking out?"

Steve could practically feel Bucky's grimace, even though he couldn't see it. "Because I don't really do… This. The whole stay-the-night thing."

"You've stayed the night before," Steve pointed out with raised eyebrows.

"But this is different!"

"How is this _any_ different?"

"Because it's not just round after round of _screwing_ , Steve," Bucky hissed at him, and Steve's eyes rolled so far back into his head that it was debatable he'd ever be able to see outwards ever again. "I'll be _living_ here!"

"For three days."

"Which is more than twelve _hours!"_

"I really think you're freaking out over nothing."

"I just don't wanna get in the way."

"Bucky, you won't get in the way. It's me."

Bucky, nevertheless, still seemed unconvinced. "But still."

Steve glanced over his shoulder at him, raising his eyebrows. "Okay, say you do get in the way of the one other person in my house- who happens to be me, by the way, it's only for three days. I think I can handle you getting in my way for three days."

Bucky groaned. "Stevie… I mean I'm sorry, but we both know that everything's just a bit of a mess right now, and I don't want you to feel like because of what keeps happening with my weird fucking family you have to-"

"Bucky," Steve interrupted with a laugh, turning around on the stairs and resting both his hands on Bucky's surprisingly tense shoulders. "Dude. Do you really think I would've invited you to stay for Christmas if I didn't actually want you to?"

"I dunno," Bucky said defensively back, "you're weird sometimes."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm the weird one."

"I'm sorry, but how am I more weird than you?"

"Are you serious?"

" _You_ don't like macaroni cheese! It's like the ultimate American food, Steve." They had resumed their trek up the five flights of stairs to Steve's apartment, Bucky lugging his duffle bag up by himself after refusing Steve's help several times. Steve had eventually just given up.

"That's just not true," Steve argued. "Just because I don't eat it every other day like you do doesn't mean I don't like it. Unlike you, Bucky, I actually _gain_  weight if I eat my body mass in carbs. And you're afraid of elevators."

"I have every right in the world to be afraid of elevators."

"Then, by that logic, my opinion on macaroni cheese stands," Steve said triumphantly as they finally reached his landing. He pulled his keys out of his back pocket and unlocked his door.

Bucky snorted. "You're a real piece of work, Rogers."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Steve grinned, hearing the click of the lock and pushing his door open, striding inside. "Just dump your shit wherever."

"I was expecting a slightly more ceremonious welcome," Bucky teased, but he left his bag abandoned by the coat rack anyway, sliding out of his leather jacket and suspending it across the back of a chair. "Nat doesn't have a key to your place too, does she?"

Steve snorted. "Not so much." He eyed Bucky's jacket, draped across the chair. "There's a coat rack right there," he pointed out, raising his eyebrows.

Bucky patted the back of his jacket possessively. "I know. I don't wanna ruin the shape of the leather."

Steve rolled his eyes.

Bucky grinned. "Why're you hating on my jacket?"

"I'm not hating on your jacket!"

"You're totally hating on my jacket," Bucky accused.

Steve laughed. "I've just never understood the attraction of leather."

"Your favourite jacket is leather."

Steve waved an arm dismissively. "Brown leather. Yours is black."

"Still leather."

"But it's different!"

"So it's _black_ leather you got a problem with," Bucky teased.

Steve grinned. "I guess so."

Bucky swiped his tongue over his bottom lip before pressing his teeth into it in a grin. "You ever seen my leather pants?"

Steve's brain function came to a grinding halt. The mental picture of Bucky's perfect ass in tight-fitting leather pants was just too much. He felt his mouth go dry.

Bucky's grin widened as he took advantage of Steve's complete disarmament. He half skipped over to where Steve was standing, arms folded loosely across his chest, and cupped his neck with his hands. Steve couldn't help but smile as Bucky pressed their lips together for a quick, warm kiss.

"Okay," he said cheerfully once he'd backed away again, his dark hair bouncing slightly as he collapsed down onto Steve's couch. Steve was sure that he spread his legs that wide on purpose as he leaned back into the cushions. "So, I've decided this three-day Christmas sleepover might be fun after all. What do you wanna do first, roomie?"

 

*

 

Steve examined himself scrutinisingly in the mirror. The snug feel of the leather against his skin was one he wasn't really used to, and as he skimmed his hands down his thighs, feeling the soft leather with his fingertips, and eyeing the way it hugged his ass with a slight frown as he turned to get a better look. "They're too small for me," he said uncertainly. "And you've got shorter legs than me, Buck. And leather like this isn't really my style. I don't think it works."

He met Bucky's eyes in the mirror.

Bucky was sitting with his elbows braced on his knees on Steve's bed, legs spread just enough to appear kind of sleazy without overdoing it. He was staring, raptly and unashamedly, and Steve felt himself go red.

"It works," Bucky said decisively, clasping his hands together and leaning forward slightly on his elbows. He licked his lips. "Really."

Steve turned to raise his eyebrows at him. "They definitely look better on you."

Bucky snorted. "They _definitely_ don't."

"Don't underestimate yourself," Steve teased, brushing a hand through his hair as he spun around again to face the mirror. He absently pinched at the fabric constricting his thighs. "Where do you even _buy_ clothes this tight?"

"Porn shops," Bucky said seriously.

"I can't tell if you're joking or not."

Their eyes met in the mirror again. Bucky's dark eyebrows flicked upwards, and Steve found himself swallowing.

"Really not joking, Stevie."

 

*

 

Steve let out a pained noise of surprise the next morning when Bucky emerged from the bathroom in a pair of Steve's boxer shorts and one of his old t-shirts.

Bucky gave him a panicked look. "What?"

"Nothing," Steve said weakly, and Bucky just stared at him in total confusion for a few seconds before he busied himself making a bowl of cereal.

Steve watched him from the kitchen table as he moved, unable to tear his eyes away and focus on the newspaper in front of him because the sight of Bucky in his clothes, hair still damp from the shower and curling slightly around his neck, humming quietly to himself as he poured the milk into his bowl of cheerios was just so painfully _beautiful_ that- 

"Steve? Stevie?"

Steve blinked. He swallowed as Bucky sat down in the chair opposite him with his cereal, raising his eyebrows in what he hoped was an innocent expression. "What?"

Bucky was watching him with a weird look. "You okay there, pal?"

Steve cleared his throat. "Y- uhh, yeah. I'm fine. Why?"

"You've gone red."

"What? No I haven't."

Bucky smirked at him, quirking an eyebrow. "Mhm. Okay." He stared at Steve with a small grin for a few more seconds before he picked up his spoon and resumed eating his cereal.

The way the light streaming in through the window hit his face made him look like some kind of gorgeous Russian sex god.

Steve was so fucked.

 

*

 

"Hey Stevie?"

"Mhm."

"How many people have you slept with?"

Steve almost choked on his burrito. " _What?"_

"I'm just curious, I swear, nothing weird."

Steve turned in his chair to stare incredulously at Bucky, who was sitting out on the fire escape with a cigarette and watching him curiously through the open window.

"It's a _little_ weird, Buck."

"My number's 37, if you must know."

"That's... A lot."

"I know."

"Like, a _lot_."

"I was kind of a whore in my early twenties. And mid twenties. And somewhat into my late twenties."

"You're only twenty nine."

"Yeah, so?"

Steve smirked at that, rolling his eyes with amusement. "So, why the sudden need to open up about this?"

Bucky shrugged. "Smoking makes me nostalgic."

"You're weird."

"Are you gonna tell me how many people you've slept with?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "No."

Bucky's eyes widened. "You weren't a virgin, were you?"

Steve snorted loudly, burrito forgotten on his plate as he swung his full attention onto Bucky. "Uh, no. Not quite. Why, was I that bad?"

Bucky went scarlet, and Steve felt proud that he'd managed to get him to blush. "That's not what I meant. You _know_ that's not what I meant."

"That's really rude Bucky."

"Stop it! You know that isn't what I was saying!"

"You hurt my feelings."

" _Steve!"_

Steve cracked a wide grin. "I'm just messing, Buck. But anyway, I'm not gonna tell you how many people I've slept with. It's personal and I'd feel weird if you knew."

"But I told you!"

"And I really didn't need to know that information."

Bucky laughed, chucking the end of his cigarette over the rails of the fire escape and hopping back inside through the window, narrowly missing a vase with his boot. "I'm sorry I brought it up."

"So am I," Steve teased.

"You don't have to tell me."

"I'm not gonna!"

"Yeah, well, just so you know I won't make you."

"I'm still not gonna say."

"Even though I want to know-"

"My lips are sealed."

"-But I won't push you-"

"You better not."

"-Because I'm a good person."

"…How are you making me feel guilty about this?"

"You know _my_ number."

Steve grinned widely. "What if I said I lost count?"

Bucky's eyebrows quirked upwards as he collapsed down beside him on a chair, picking up a stray magazine. "Are you serious?"

"Ha. No."

"Oh."

"Are you disappointed?"

"It would've been pretty funny if it was true."

"That I'd screwed so many people I lost count?"

Bucky laughed, and it was like the fucking sunshine and Steve felt his heart melt in the warmth of it. "No, it'd be funny because it proves you can't count very high."

"That's _so_ rude!"

"Just callin' it like I see it."

"God _damn_ , Buck," Steve laughed, shaking his head.

Bucky's eyes sparkled with mirth. "You gonna prove me wrong?"

"Fuck, I hate you."

"Go on, tell me. Between friends."

"Is that what we are?"

"Well, amongst other things."

"If I tell you, will you promise not to take the piss?"

"Stevie, I would never."

"Liar!" Steve snorted, and Bucky just grinned, whacking his arm with the magazine. 

"I don't lie!"

"Do you promise?"

Bucky smiled again, and this time he looked genuinely serious when he replied with a short laugh, "Yeah, punk, I promise."

Steve rolled his eyes. "12, okay? 12."

"12 ain't so bad," Bucky conceded, and for some reason he looked impressed. "You remember all their names?"

Steve raised his eyebrows. "Of course?"

"There, see? Already better than me. You go, Stevie."

"You forgot their names? You're _such_ a dick."

"Regretting your taste in men already?"

Steve snorted. "Hell no."

 

*

 

"So what's the point of this game again?" Barton asked for the fourth time, frowning up in confusion at Bucky from over the top of his cards.

Bucky groaned, letting his head drop into his hands. Natasha could explain it this time.

"Basically," the redhead started, tone indicating her frustration, "you just have to fill in the blanks. It's really not that hard."

Steve was drumming his fingertips on the table impatiently. "Guys, are we gonna play or not?"

"Yes, yes." Natasha let out a long-suffering sigh. "Keep your panties on, Rogers. Do you get it now, Clint?"

"Uhh-"

"We're gonna go ahead and take that as a yeah," Sam interrupted before Clint could say anything else, much to Bucky's amusement. They made eye contact for a second; Sam flicked up his eyebrows with a grin. "Come on, Barnes. Play the first card before we all die of old age around Steve's crappy table."

It was Christmas eve, and the five of them- Bucky, Natasha, Clint, Steve and Sam- were gathered around the kitchen table in Steve's apartment, preparing for their first ever game of Cards Against Humanity.

Bucky, for one, was pretty excited.

He'd heard a lot about this game from the internet. People on the internet that Bucky didn't know seemed to think it was just hilarious. And so, because he had nothing better to do and very little self restraint, he'd bought it on Amazon, and once it arrived he'd asked around a couple of people to play.

Steve hadn't even questioned it when people had started showing up at his apartment; he'd just looked faintly surprised and let them in anyway, offering drinks.

Bucky kind of loved that about him.

He grinned widely, fiddling with the cards in his hand. "Are we all ready?"

"Just play the damn card," Steve snorted, and Natasha kicked his shin under the table.

"C'mon!"

Bucky laughed, and placed the first black card face-up on the wooden table. He cleared his throat loudly before reading aloud, "When I pooped, what came out my butt?"

"This is the most childish game I have ever-"

"You already said you'd play, Nat," Bucky complained, "just go along with it, okay?"

Rolling her eyes, the redhead slid a white card out of her hand and put it on the table. "Sure, whatever."

A bright grin sprang straight back onto Bucky's face. "Awesome!"

Steve laughed, shaking his head in amusement as he put down a card of his own. "I'm gonna win, my card's awesome."

"Oh, man, I wouldn't be so sure," Wilson grinned. "I got a winner here."

"I'm not sure mine makes sense-"

"Fucking _hell_ , Clint."

 

*

 

Steve laughed breathlessly as he rolled over onto his back, chest heaving, ignoring the bead of sweat he could feel dripping down his neck. "You know," he smirked after a moment of listening to Bucky's heavy breathing, "If you could maybe take it a little easier on my back next time-"

He heard Bucky's adorable little laugh, and then an elbow was knocking heavily against his side. "Shut up, punk. You love it."

Steve snorted, "Even so, my _back_ would appreciate-"

Bucky rolled onto his side to grin at him, and Steve felt his heart flutter at the sight of him lying there, naked and tangled in Steve's sheets, with his hair sticking up all over the place and a rather large, rather obvious-looking hickey on his collarbone.

"Your back can stuff it, Rogers, you fuckin' grandpa."

"You're an ass," Steve snorted.

Bucky laughed again, shifting so his head was propped up on his arm. His other hand drifted across Steve's chest absently, almost lazily, and Steve felt a slight tingle wherever he let his fingertips brush his skin.

"You're too hot," Bucky was complaining suddenly, letting his arm drape across Steve's chest as he collapsed into the pillows with a sigh.

"You're too far on my side of the bed to be complaining," Steve shot back.

Then Bucky was beaming at him. "Does that mean I have a side?"

"Well technically, this side of the bed is mine, and because I own the bed, _that_ side of the bed is also mine," Steve couldn't help but tease, rolling his eyes as he raised his hand and entwined his fingers with Bucky's loose ones. "But I'm feeling charitable today, so sure, I guess you have a side."

Bucky grinned. "That's exciting. I've never had a side before."

Steve snorted. "That mean you're gonna stay on it?"

Bucky pretended to look offended. "Gee, Steve, you really know how to sweet talk a guy."

"It's a hidden talent."

"It's sarcastic," Bucky retorted with a grin, leaning forwards just enough to let his lips brush Steve's, so softly that it was hardly a kiss at all. "And a little rude." He leaned away again.

Steve smiled, feeling his eyes flutter shut. The bed creaked under the weight of the both of them as Bucky moved. "You're a little rude."

He felt Bucky's chest vibrate with his low laugh, and he hadn't realized how close together they were until that very moment, when Bucky's side was pressed up against his, hands entwined, one arm tossed carelessly over his chest. "Real original comeback, Stevie. I'm a little disappointed in you."

"I'm tired, give me a break." Steve let out a deep, relaxed sigh, eyes still closed, enjoying the heat of Bucky's body next to his. "I always forget how much sex can wear you out."

"You're lucky I like you so much. How old are you again; 60?"

Steve snorted. "I'm younger than you, dumbass. And shut up, I'm really tired. Long day." 

"What's the time?"

Steve opened his eyes to glance at his watch. "Almost two."

He just managed to catch Bucky's smile as he turned his head away, dark hair flopping in front of his face. "Huh. Christmas Day already."

Steve yawned as his eyes drifted shut again, sinking deeper into the warmth of the bed. "Guess it is."

"Thank you for letting me stay with you."

Steve huffed out a laugh. "You say that like it was a chore for me, Buck. I _like_ having you around, you do realize that right?"

Bucky made a noncommittal grunting sound.

Steve internally rolled his eyes. "I like spending time with you," he plowed on, "and you can be as weird and uncomfortable about it as you like, but you can stay over whenever you want. Except Wednesdays, actually, because that's when me and Sam go down to the VA and play cards with-"

Bucky's laugh was so loud and unexpected that Steve actually jumped.

"You'd rather go hang out with old people than have sex with me? I'm actually offended."

"That is _not_ how I meant it."

"I'm a veteran too."

"You're a jerk."

Bucky chuckled, swatting at Steve's head, and Steve managed to intercept it with his forearm, grinning. "Oi, don't get all physical with me, Barnes."

"You loved it half an hour ago," Bucky teased.

"I wasn't this exhausted half an hour ago."

Steve was pretty sure he heard Bucky yawn. "Yeah, well, what can I say. You haven't had great sex unless you're so tired it feels like your bones have actually melted."

"That's... Oddly accurate."

Bucky's laugh rumbled low and deep in his chest. "I was kidding."

"You weren't wrong though."

"No," Bucky agreed with a soft chuckle, "I wasn't."

They lay there for a while in silence, and eventually Steve began to wonder if the dark-haired man beside him had fallen asleep. But then he heard Bucky sigh, and felt the springs of the bed creak a little as he shifted slightly. "Merry Christmas, Stevie."

In his half-sleeping state, the words sounded very far away.

Steve smiled, fingers squeezing slightly around Bucky's. "Merry Christmas," he sighed back.

The last thing he remembered was the slight hum of Bucky's recognition, before he fell fast asleep.

 

*

 

When Bucky woke up the next morning, the first thing he noticed was that it was snowing.

The second thing he noticed was that it was 6am, and really, why was he even awake at 6am?

And the third thing he noticed was the text from his sister that must've woken him up. It just read:

_**James, we should christmas skype. it's weird not seeing you. going out with the fam at 10 so please get back to me before then? kids want to say hi. lots of love, anna xxx** _

And, well, he couldn't really deny his sister. He _did_ miss being woken up by the sound of various nieces and nephews yelling at him about it being time to open presents. And with Steve still snoring next to him, he had the perfect opportunity to Skype her now before he woke up, right?

Careful not to disturb the man next to him Bucky slid out from under the sheets, snatching up his jeans from the ground and tugging them on. Steve shifted slightly at the sound of Bucky's feet padding across the hardwood floor of the bedroom, but he didn't look like he was gonna wake up any time soon. He'd been exhausted.

Bucky managed to gently close the bedroom door behind him as he slipped out into the living room with one hand, laptop clutched in the other, and as soon as he reached the couch he parked himself down in the middle of it, settling into the cushions as he flipped it open and connected to Steve's wifi.

Steve's wifi was so much faster than his own. It made Bucky sad, and question the reliability of his internet speed.

When he opened his Skype he was pleased to see that _Anna Maxwell xox_ was already online. He smiled to himself, pressing 'call'.

It only take a few rings for his sister to pick up.

" _Merry Christmas uncle James!"_ Came the loud chorus of children's voices from the other end of the line, and Bucky beamed as suddenly the picture came into focus and he was greeted by the faces of his sister's kids.

"Merry Christmas to you too, monkeys," he laughed back, trying to keep his voice down slightly for the sake of the man in the other room. "Did you guys get a chance to open your presents yet?"

"Yeah," came Roger's, the 6-year-old, excitable reply. "I got a… A… Uh-"

"Hot Wheels track," Charlie replied with a wide grin. Charlie was the oldest, and even though he was only 8 he always seemed to be older. He was like Henry that way.

"I got dolls," Crystal chimed in happily, "and we haven't even opened all of them yet."

"Did you get my presents?"

"Mommy hasn't let us open all of them yet," Charlie explained solemnly. "She said we could open two when we first got up, and then if we waited and we were really good then we can open more when daddy comes downstairs."

"Wow," Bucky nodded enthusiastically, in the way that only really works when you're dealing with children. "Make sure to thank mommy and daddy for letting you guys open them up this early, okay? Because this is _really_ early, and you gotta be grateful for your parents getting up before sunrise."

"Okay," the three chorused at once, and Crystal giggled.

"Uncle James, what did you get for Christmas?"

Bucky grinned toothily at her. "I haven't had a chance to open any of my presents yet, kiddo. It's too early for grown ups, remember?"

"Did you get any presents from santa?" Roger asked curiously.

"I'm afraid not," Bucky said forlornly with a sad look, "Because santa doesn't come to grown ups like me."

"Why not?"

"Because, pumpkin, grown ups have to learn to look out for themselves and sometimes they do bad things and end up on the naughty list. But kids like you guys can be really good, and so santa still brings you presents."

"What did you do to get on the naughty list?"

"Why are we drilling poor uncle James this early in the morning?" Came his sister's laughing voice from somewhere off-camera. "Remember what I told you about how grown ups need more sleep than little kids?"

"We're not little kids," Charlie complained, and Anna's pretty face popped into view, slightly pixelated through the bad camera quality.

"Merry Christmas," she grinned at Bucky, and Bucky found himself grinning back.

"Back atcha, kid."

"I'm sorry, did you get up specially for us?"

Bucky waved her apology away with one hand. "I was up anyway," he half lied.

His sister smiled. "Well, thanks. Dan's upstairs getting dressed, he'll be down in just a minute to say hello." She turned away, and Bucky noticed she was wearing some of those stupid penguin pajamas that you see in Walmart. "Okay, guys, how about you get to go pick one more present and open it while mommy talks to Uncle James real quick?"

Within the blink of an eye, all three were gone.

Bucky laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "Damn, Anna, I almost pity you."

"Almost?"

He smirked. "Almost."

His sister laughed, tucking her dark hair behind her ears and not bothering to cover her mouth as she yawned. "Only fifteen years until they all leave for college."

Bucky grinned, saluting her. "I don't envy you, I really don't."

She smiled. And then she frowned. "James, you're not naked are you?"

Bucky frowned right back. "Of course not; jeans." He raised one leg into shot to prove it. "I'm not an animal."

Anna rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't be surprised. Where's your shirt?"

"On the floor someplace. Couldn't be bothered to put one on."

"Really, James, in front of my kids?"

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "You think my chest hair will pollute their brains or something? Grow up."

Anna gave him the finger. "It's just inappropriate," she tutted, before pausing and seemingly squinting at something behind him. "Hey, did you refurbish your apartment or something?"

"What? No, I'm at a friend's."

"Ooh," Anna wiggled her eyebrows, "A _friend_."

Bucky grinned, raising an eyebrow of his own. "Why you gotta be like that?"

"What kind of friend are we talking about?"

Bucky laughed, resting his hands behind his head and grinning down into the camera. "A _good_ friend."

"Are you sleeping with her?"

"Why are you making assumptions?"

"Uhh, because it's 6 in the morning on Christmas day and you're in someone else's apartment without a shirt on?"

Bucky laughed. "Like I said; we're _good_ friends."

Anna beamed. "Ma will be thrilled."

"We're not telling Ma."

"What? Why not?"

"Because," Bucky started, grinning, "it's my own personal business and Ma doesn't need to get herself involved in it. Hey, is it snowing where you are?"

Anna rolled her eyes. "Nice change of subject… But yeah, it's snowing here. Been snowing all night by the looks of things."

Bucky smiled absently, staring out the window to his right and watching as soft white flakes drifted past the glass to rest lightly on the fire escape. "Did you get my card?"

"I did actually; it was _lovely_ , James. I _especially_ loved the crude drawing of me as a… Horse?"

Bucky pretended to look offended. "Donkey, Anna. It was a donkey."

She rolled her eyes. "Sorry," she said sarcastically, and Bucky grinned.

"Heh, well, glad you liked it."

"You were always my least favourite brother."

"Oi, don't be too rude to me, I haven't had my coffee yet and I'm still half asleep and that's just taking advantage."

"Dickhead."

"What did I _just_ say?"

"Bucky," came Steve's grumbling voice as he stuck his head through the door, causing Bucky to jump. "Dude, it's 6 in the morning."

"Sorry," Bucky grimaced, chewing the corner of his lip and giving him an apologetic look. He pointed at the laptop. "Sister."

"Oh my god, are you on Skype? Oh god, sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. I thought you were watching TV super loudly or something."

"No, don't apologise, Jesus Christ, sorry for waking you up-"

Steve held up both his hands in a surrender. "I'm sorry. I'm gonna go make coffee."

Bucky groaned. "Stop apologising, what the hell? Why are _you_ sorry?"

"Because I'm interrupting!" Steve hissed, gesturing to the laptop as he edged around the couch and into the kitchen, mouthing 'sorry' over his shoulder.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "It's like living with a fucking Canadian," he muttered half jokingly as he swapped his attention back to the screen. "Hey, sorry about that."

"Who was that?"

"Just Steve." When Anna looked confused, Bucky clarified, "The friend I'm staying with. The one I mentioned?"

"A man?" His sister was squeaking, staring incredulously at him. "James, when you said _friend_ -"

"Steve's a friend," Bucky spoke over her, expression hardening. "Okay?"

Anna looked like she was trying to contain some kind of nuclear explosion in her brain. Her face had gone kind of red. "Okay," she managed after a minute. "But James-"

"What?"

"Hey Buck, did you see the snow?"

Bucky ignored whatever it was Anna said to him in response as craned his neck around the back of the couch to grin at Steve, who was standing in the doorway beaming like a small child. "Yeah, pal, I saw."

"First snowfall of the year on Christmas day."

"It's like all the horrible cliches of the world are coming true," Bucky said in a mock thoughtful voice, and Steve laughed before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Bucky turned back to the laptop, still grinning, to find Anna staring wide-eyed and almost sadly at him.

"What?" He said again, frowning. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"When were you gonna tell me?" She asked in a quiet voice.

"Tell you what?"

Anna frowned. "About _him_ , James, what do you think?"

Bucky puffed up his chest slightly. "I dunno what you mean."

"James," she said in an understanding and _irritating_  tone of voice, "come on."

"This is getting weird now."

"Oh, you think?"

Bucky frowned. "Hey, it sounds homophobic when you say it, stop that."

"So there _is_ something?"

Bucky sighed, waving his hand around dismissively. It was bound to come out eventually, he knew that he couldn't hide forever, and… Well, Henry already knew. It was just a matter of time until he told everyone else. And he didn't exactly want to run in circles trying to hide Steve from his family for the foreseeable future, so...

"Yeah, okay? There's something. Just… Stop looking at me like that. It ain't a big deal, keep your fucking head on."

"My head's on. You're right, it's not a big deal. But James-"

"There _are_ no buts, Anna, I just told you it's not a big deal."

Anna sighed, shaking her head slightly. "But Ma's not gonna like it."

Bucky's eyes snapped up to the little green-lighted camera with a piercing glare. "Good thing we ain't telling her then, right kiddo?"

"I don't think you can call me that anymore. I'm more mature than you."

"I call bullshit."

"You really want to keep this from her?"

"I don't see I have much of a choice, right?"

Anna gave him a sympathetic look. "Are you happy, though? With… Uhh…"

"Steve," Bucky supplied, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, actually. I am."

Anna offered him a smile. "Well there you go then. Does anyone else know about you and...him?"

"One person."

"Who?"

"I'll give you one guess."

"...It's Henry, isn't it."

"Right on the money."

Anna laughed, and Bucky felt a tension he hadn't realised he'd been carrying ease slightly in his chest.

"Why is he always the first to know?"

Bucky grinned. "Because he's a perceptive little fucking shit."

"I don't buy it."

"Something like that, anyway."

She snorted. "Perceptive my ass. What did he do?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "He broke into my house."

"That sounds about right."

Steve's voice carried in from the kitchen. "Coffee?"

"Sure," Bucky called back. He turned back to his laptop screen, smiling. "I gotta go, I'm sorry. Give my love to Dan and the kids."

"No, no, wait, hold up, before you go I wanna talk to this Steve pers-"

"Bye!" Bucky quickly ended the call and slammed his laptop shut.

Steve appeared at his side with two mugs of steaming coffee, handing one to Bucky. "How's your sister?"

Bucky made a noise of appreciation as he took the cup from Steve's proffered grip. "She's good," he nodded, gratefully taking a sip of the heavenly caffeine. "I think I came out to her."

"Oh," Steve said, surprised. "Okay."

"She took it well."

"Nice."

"She said my ma would go apeshit."

"And would she?"

Bucky shrugged. "Probably."

Steve grimaced. "You ever gonna tell her?"

Bucky eyed him carefully, studying his reaction as he said the next few words, "I'm gonna have to eventually, right? Just… Maybe not today."

Steve smiled, brushing a hand carefully through Bucky's hair. "In your own time," he agreed.

Bucky felt a little relieved. "Mhm," he nodded, sliding over on the couch so there was enough room for Steve to sit next to him. "Hey, Stevie, is it too early to do presents do you think?"

Steve grinned widely. "You got me a present?"

"Duh. Did you get _me_ a present?"

"Well I feel a little bad now, because technically no. Not from just me, anyway. Clint, Nat and I pooled together to get you a biggish one."

Bucky raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "Ooh. Do tell. Is it a pony?"

Steve laughed. "No. And it really is too early to do presents. We gotta wait until they get here."

"When do they get here?"

"Uhh… 11? I think?"

"Fuck."

 

 *

 

Getting Bucky an iPhone turned out to be the worst idea that Steve and Natasha ever had.

"Smile!" Bucky said enthusiastically as he turned the camera on them.

"No," Natasha said almost immediately, dropping her chopsticks and hiding her face behind her hair. "Barnes, fuck off. Nt while I'm eating. I said we could do selfies _after_."

"Aw come on, Nat! Just one eensy weensy smile…"

Barton looked like he was about to piss himself. "He's totally got you on film, Nat," he laughed loudly as he tossed half a spring roll at her head.

" _Hey!"_ She batted it away with ease, then stared at him with a murderous look. "Throw food at me one more time, Clint, I dare you."

Clint held up his hands in submission.

Bucky laughed, before turning his camera to Steve. "Hi Steve."

Steve rolled his eyes, torn between feeling amused at the childish behaviour being exhibited and irritated by the constant use of snapchat. "Hi Bucky."

"Are you having a good Christmas?"

He smirked. "Mostly."

"Did you like my present?"

Steve smiled, glancing away as he reached for more noodles. For Christmas, Bucky had got him a photograph- a framed black and white thing of Coney Island back in the 1930s. He'd been really worried it would seem kind of lame, but Steve had been completely entranced with it. It was, weirdly, one of the most thoughtful gifts he'd ever received.

"I just thought you'd like it," Bucky had explained hastily with reddened cheeks. "It's a little stupid, I'm sorry."

"It's not stupid," Steve had interrupted, beaming up at him. "Thank you, Bucky. Really."

Bucky hadn't exactly looked convinced.

Now, Steve grinned up into Bucky's phone camera, eyes glancing up into his expectant face. "I loved it."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Bucky beamed, before he turned away to film Clint balancing a spoon on his nose.

"Hey James, you should get an Instagram account so you can follow me," Natasha said conversationally as she tucked her hair behind her ears. "I'm almost at 500 followers."

"Is that a lot?" Steve questioned curiously.

Natasha nodded at the same time Bucky asked, "Which one's Instagram again?"

Steve reached for another spring roll.

"The one with all the photos and shit," Clint supplied, plucking the iPhone out of Bucky's grip. "Here, I'll find it on the App Store."

Bucky got out of his chair to go and stand behind Clint, watching him, absently rubbing at his bottom lip with his thumb.

"I can't believe we're eating Chinese takeout for Christmas lunch," Natasha only half complained, reaching for a shrimp thing that Steve hadn't even noticed they'd ordered. "I mean, there has to be some kind of Christmas law against that kind of thing."

Steve shrugged, grinning at her. "Well, none of us were gonna cook, obviously, so…"

"I could've cooked!" Natasha argued.

"No," Bucky and Clint interjected at the same time. 

"Chinese is great," Bucky quickly added on at the end.

"It's traditional Christmas food in China," Barton agreed with a solemn nod.

Steve laughed loudly, clapping one hand down on the table. "Amazing."

"So what's it been like, having James staying with you?" Natasha asked innocently, batting her eyelashes at him. "Because he used to sleep over at mine occasionally and _that_ was just _hell_."

"That's really rude," Bucky interrupted lamely.

Steve grinned. "It's been good," he answered, ignoring Bucky's mutterings about how rude Natasha was evidently being. "At least, I think so."

"It has," Bucky agreed with a nod, grinning widely over at Steve. "His fridge is bigger than mine."

"Why does that matter?"

"Because it fits more food in it, Nat, why do you think?"

Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Also, the walls are thicker than at my place, so the neighbours don't get pissed off when we-"

"Okay," Natasha interrupted loudly, over the sounds of Barton's snorts of laughter. "That's enough."

"It's true," Steve conceded, giving her an apologetic grin as Bucky too dissolved into laughter. "Sorry Nat. He's a shitty influence."

"You're as bad as each other."

"Yeah; because my boyfriend is a shitty person and that rubs off a little," Steve snorted, rolling his eyes.

Then he noticed Bucky was staring at him, head cocked slightly to the side, a wide grin plastered across his face. "Boyfriend, huh?"

_Oh, jesus._

Natasha was laughing.

"That's a new one, Stevie." Bucky was beaming now, folding his arms casually across his chest.

Steve didn't really know what to say, so he solved the issue by just not saying anything.

"Didn't think you'd be the first of us to use the b-word. But, well, it's out there now, so that's that." Bucky leaned across the table to lightly kiss his cheek. "Boyfriend, huh? Okay. But I'm not a shitty person."

The anxiety in Steve's muscles faded, and he found himself laughing, swatting Bucky's face away. "Yes you are."

"I'm not!"

"You are," Clint and Natasha said at the exact same time.

The offended look on Bucky's face was so funny that Steve nearly fell off his chair.

 

*

 

"Steve," Bucky was breathing into his ear, and Steve could practically feel his smile against his skin. "Hey, Stevie, look at me."

"I'm asleep."

"No you're not; come here." Bucky dug his knee purposely into the small of Steve's back.

Steve groaned, rolling over on the bed so he was facing Bucky's direction and painstakingly opened his eyes. "What."

Bucky's bright blue eyes were trained on his, and there was a cheeky grin playing across his lips. "Why do you look so miserable?"

Steve sighed, rubbing blearily at his eyes and trying his hardest to ignore his throbbing headache. "Because it's too early to be awake."

"Can't you give me a smile?"

"No."

"Not even a little one?"

"Nope."

"You're so grumpy. I thought you was supposed to be the morning person."

Steve rolled his eyes, and Bucky took that as an invitation to slide a little closer to him in the bed, sliding one leg between Steve's and letting his arm drape lazily over his waist.

"I'm a morning person if I got more than the 8-hours recommended of sleep, Bucky. We didn't go to sleep until 4."

"Even so," Bucky practically purred, and Steve fought back a smile as their noses brushed together, because no, he was in a bad mood, because Bucky woke him up at 6am, when the sun hadn't yet risen and the snow was still falling in buckets outside the window.

"Why did you wake me up?"

"Because I wanted to talk to you."

"What about?"

Bucky made a noncommittal noise, and Steve took that to mean 'nothing in particular'. He was right.

"Nothing really. I just like talking to you."

Steve was finding it hard to hold back his smile as Bucky grinned up at him through his thick dark eyelashes. "Can I go back to sleep now?"

Bucky's smile turned into a pout. "No, sourpuss, you can't."

"I've had 2 hours sleep, and I'm hungover."

"So did I; you don't see me complaining."

"You're not hungover?"

"Obviously not."

Steve huffed out a little laugh, unable to stop himself. "You're just such a dickhead, Bucky, I swear to god."

Bucky grinned, shaking his head slightly as he pressed a small kiss to the underside of Steve's jaw. "You don't mean that." The leg he'd pushed between Steve's shifted slightly, and Steve felt himself sighing into the warmth of having Bucky's body so close to his, the comfort of just being with someone, and finally he allowed himself a soft smile, biting down slightly into his lip to stop it from getting too out of control. 

"I do," he teased.

There was a little click.

The smile on Steve's face disappeared instantly. "Oh, I hate you."

Bucky laughed, curling up into a ball and attempting to shield himself from Steve, who was trying very hard to knee him in a particularly painful area. "What?!"

"You woke me up so you could take a shitty morning photo?! _Dick!"_

"If it makes you feel better, it's a really cute photo."

"I _hate_ you!"

"I'm putting this on Instagram."

" _Bucky!"_

"Aw come on, Stevie, it's honestly really cute." Bucky waved the phone in front of his face. "Look, you're smiling and everything."

Steve _did_ kind of love the photo. Bucky was grinning down at the blankets, eyes shielded slightly by his lashes, and Steve was smiling at him like he was the sun personified, lip teased between his teeth. But he wasn't gonna tell Bucky he liked it, because then Bucky would win.

"You're such an asshole," he muttered instead, punching him lightly in the gut.

Bucky's laughter just increased in volume. "What caption should I put on it?"

"Fuck off."

"No, come on, you gotta help me out here otherwise it's lame."

"It's already lame!"

"It's not lame, it's adorable." Bucky's hand tangled itself in Steve's hair before he could pull away, and he tugged Steve closer to press their mouths together for one quick second of perfect heat before he let his hand fall and rolled away again, grinning at the phone in his hands. "Okay. I'm just gonna go with 'he seems to really hate the morning after'."

" _I hate you."_

"Oh, Nat liked it already."

Steve groaned, covering his face with his hands. "From now on, no bed photos until after at least 8am."

"She commented; wanna hear what she said?"

" _No_."

"Are you sure?"

"Fuck you."

Bucky smirked up at him. "Okay. Not too early for that though, is it?" 

Steve's next punch was to his groin. 

 


	10. So Far It's Alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter, another apology. dudes I'm so sorry I am garbage, I know it's been like two months or something insane since I updated and I deserve to die in a painful manner. anyway, I know full well this isn't one of my best chapters, it's pretty shitty actually, to be honest I hated writing every second of it, but I'm super excited about the next one and I hope that I can make it up to you.
> 
> leave me a comment to tell me what you think, and I've put a link to my tumblr in the notes at the bottom of this page if any of y'all want it for whatever reason
> 
> -cat

Steve wouldn't say that he'd been _mad_ when Bucky had announced that he was going to stay with his sister and her family over New Year's. It wasn't really anything to do with him if Bucky wanted to spend some time with his family, and considering everything that they'd gone through in the last couple of months, it made sense.

It just meant that Steve was going to spend New Year's in his apartment by himself.

Again.

And Steve knew that it was selfish, and petty, and kind of clingy, but wasn't New Years Eve supposed to be one of those couple-things?

He might not have been _mad_ , per se, but he _was_ a little put out. And Steve felt pretty terrible about it, because obviously Bucky wanted to be with his family, of course he did, and it was totally normal to want to spend time with them, but he couldn't help the nagging voice in the back of his head saying 'why didn't he want to spend it with me?'

Steve knew he was a shitty person just for thinking that. And the more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself that it was completely unreasonable to feel that way. That whole kiss-at-midnight thing was cheesy anyway, and Bucky clearly didn't seem to mind missing it, so why should Steve?

Except, he did kind of mind.

Just a little.

Steve let out a deep sigh, his head dropping onto the back of the couch as the first of what was surely going to be many fireworks could be heard from outside his window. The countdown on the TV live from Times Square was saying they still had ten minutes until it was officially the 1st of January, and then the ball would drop, and Steve would get the honorary annual phone call from what would probably be a very drunk Sam in Virginia, maybe send Bucky a text, and then he could go to bed.

It was stupid, because the guy had only been at his sister's for two days, but he _missed_ Bucky. The more time he spent with him- and that had been almost every day since school had broken up for Christmas- the harder it was to remember that he hadn't known Bucky his entire life.

So, clingy and weird as it might seem, Steve just felt like his apartment was that much emptier without the other man slouched across his sofa, complaining about Steve's lack of food, or beer, or DVD collection.

So when his phone unexpectedly rang with five minutes to go until midnight, with Bucky's name flashing across the screen, Steve practically fell of the couch trying to grab it. He accepted the call after the first ring, wincing when he remembered how eager that was, and internally cursing himself for it.

"Hello?"

"Hey Stevie." Bucky's voice was low and hushed on the other end of the line, which was pretty damn bad anyway, and Steve found himself holding the phone even closer to his ear in an attempt to hear him better. "What's up?"

"Nothin'," Steve sighed, stretching out on the couch and not even trying to wipe the stupid grin off his face. "Just watching the TV. Ball's about to drop. Aren't you with your sister? I thought we weren't doing phone calls to lessen down the homo."

"I'm hiding out in the bathroom," Bucky admitted, voice low and almost husky, and his breath hitched slightly at the end of the sentence in a way that had Steve frowning. 

"Why?"

"Because-" There was a soft gasp, just about loud enough for Steve to hear, before Bucky continued, tone slightly breathless. "-I needed to hear your voice."

Steve felt his cheeks slowly turning red, because now he was pretty sure he knew what this was about, but before he could voice his thoughts Bucky was talking again.

"Do you know what your voice does to me, Steve? Do you have any idea?" There was another quiet, almost strangled noise, like Bucky was trying very hard to be as noiseless as possible, and when he spoke again his voice seemed to have impossibly dropped an octave. "Well, I guess it's pretty obvious."

Steve opened his mouth just to close it again, heart thumping in his chest, because Bucky was almost definitely jerking off on the other end of the line, and his voice that deep and that close to Steve's ear was enough to send a sharp jolt of arousal straight to his dick.

Phone sex was _definitely_ something he could get on board with.

"You know," Bucky continued through Steve's silence, and there was definitely a breathlessness to his voice now, Steve could almost picture him locked in the bathroom of his sister's house, fingers wrapped firmly around his cock as he spoke into the phone, "Here's the deal; I figure, if I can't kiss you at midnight, at least I can hear you gasping my name as you come all over your own hand." 

Want began to pool in the pit of Steve's stomach, and he could feel his dick beginning to harden. He swallowed, one hand palming at the bulge in his jeans to try and release some of the building pressure. "Are you drunk?"

Bucky let out a sharp whining sound, practically gasping into the speaker, and when he spoke next there was a hint of impatience to his tone, "Stevie, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm on a bit of a tight schedule and you're not giving me a whole lot to work with here. To answer your question, no, not drunk, just a little tipsy, and a little _participation_ on your side would be-" he broke off again with a small hiss, and Steve found himself fumbling to unbutton his jeans with one hand.

Within seconds he'd managed it, pulling his aching dick free of his underwear, and hardly even surprised to discover how hard he already was. When he carefully wrapped his fingers around the weight of himself he let out a quiet noise of relief, because _god_ he needed this, and he didn't miss the small gasping noises Bucky was making through the phone by his ear.

"I'm already participating," he breathed, trying to keep his voice even, "and I was just making sure."

Bucky let out a low, rumbling laugh that went straight to the pool of heat in Steve's stomach, which was enough incentive for him to start slowly stroking himself with one hand, eyes fluttering shut.

"That's my boy," came Bucky's teasing, breathless voice, and Steve forced back a groan.

"If you were here we could fuck properly," Steve sighed into the phone, and he heard Bucky's breath stutter.

"Jeez, Steve, you always had such a mouth on you?"

Steve found himself smiling, tightening his grip on his cock as he snapped his wrist back, letting out a sharp breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "Not for just anyone," he teased with a breathless laugh.

"Fuck," was Bucky's raspy reply, and Steve could tell he was speaking through gritted teeth, "Guess I should've stayed at home, huh?"

"There's not much going on here. How's your sister?"

"Oh god, please don't talk about my sister while I've got my dick in my hand."

Steve's mouth had gone dry. He gently thumbed the slit at the tip of his dick, feeling a drop of precum slide down the length of his thumb and letting out a carefully controlled whimper as his hips stuttered shamelessly towards his hand. "When are you coming back?"

"Tomorrow," Bucky's hitched voice was gasping into his ear. "I want to come back tomorrow, and I want you to come over, and I want you to fuck me until I can't remember my own name."

Steve drew in a sharp intake of breath as a jolt of lust burst through his dick, and he felt even more precum coat his fingers as he upped his pace with his hand, getting into a rhythm, gripping the phone tightly with his other hand. "We'll take turns," he just about managed to gasp back, and he heard Bucky _moan_ , long and deep and throaty, and Christ if that wasn't the hottest thing Steve had ever heard in his life.

"Fuck," Bucky's voice growled into his ear, "Stevie, you really are a catch, you know that?"

"You really wanna have that conversation now?" Steve half huffed in amusement, clenching his jaw as he pumped his wrist back again.

"Just sayin'," Bucky chuckled breathlessly in response, "fuck, Steve, the things I'm going to do to you tomorrow-"

There was the sound of several loud bangs on Bucky's end of the line, and then a child's voice- a girl, Steve thought- calling out in the background.

"Uncle Jamie? Are you okay in there? The ball's about to drop!"

Bucky swore, and Steve heard something clatter. Bucky must've dropped the phone.

"Just a sec," he heard Bucky yell back in return, and then there was a scrambling sound as Bucky snatched up the phone again.

"Oh my god. This was a terrible idea."

Steve groaned, absently thumbing at the head of his cock with his hand. "It was _your_ idea, don't go blaming this shit on me."

"I'm not. Stevie, no pressure, but I really need to leave and I _really_ need to finish, so if you've got any bright ideas-" 

"That's is the most romantic thing you've ever said to me," Steve couldn't help but tease.

"Fuck off, this is serious!" There was another shuffling sound, and then Bucky spoke again in a hushed, flustered whisper, "I can't go back out there with a fucking boner, Steve!"

"Pour cold water on your face?"

" _Help me!"_

"I'm trying!" Steve didn't even pretend to hide the fact he was finding the whole situation hilarious as he snort-laughed down the line, the hand on his own cock loosening. He could sort that out later. "Alright; because I'm an amazing boyfriend, I have an idea."

"What is it?"

"You're still hard, right?"

"Is the sky fucking blue, Steve?"

"Okay, okay, jeez… Right, close your eyes."

He heard Bucky take a deep breath, and assumed he'd done it.

"Picture me," he murmured down the line in his best husky voice, because he'd be damned if he didn't make the most out of this opportunity. "Picture me on my knees on the floor in front of you, sucking your cock so far into my mouth that I can feel you pressing against the back of my throat. And then picture your mom walking in, naked."

A horrified squealing sound practically burst Steve's eardrum, but by that point he was laughing too hard to even care. And then, Bucky was snarling at him;

" _You sick, twisted, son of a-"_

"JAMES?!" A woman's voice, sounding pretty far away to Steve but was probably only just outside the door for Bucky.

"I gotta go, but this is _NOT_ over," Bucky hissed down the line, and Steve let his head fall back onto the couch as he snorted back;

"Did it work?"

"Not the point."

"Crisis averted?"

"I hate you."

"You're welcome."

"I didn't even get to finish!"

"Neither did I; you don't hear _me_ moaning about it."

" _Asshole_."

Steve found himself beaming, because he recognised Bucky's tone, and it wasn't his I-am-an-ex-sniper-and-I'll-fuck-you-up voice, but his you're-a-shit-but-I-kinda-like-it voice. He used it on Natasha all the time.

"Happy New Year to you too," Steve snorted, shaking his head in amusement. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"No you won't. I'm never talking to you again. Punk." Bucky hung up the phone.

Steve didn't stop grinning as he carefully tucked himself back into his pants, not really in the mood anymore. The burning lust had been replaced by something floaty and happy and light, and even though that was sort of lame it felt ten times more awesome.

He still hadn't stopped grinning by the time the ball dropped in Times Square. He watched the confetti rain down on the crowd from the sky on his tiny TV screen, getting stuck in girls' hair and coming to rest on men's backpacks, painting the concrete floor. 

His grin stuck throughout all three minutes of Sam's drunken phone call, most of which Steve couldn't decipher, but the main message was pretty much just 'happy New Year, see you soon'. Well that was Steve's best guess, anyway.

And finally, his grin was still in place when, at 12:09, he got a text that read:

_**TO: STEVIE** _

_**FROM: BUCKY** _

_**the next time you pull a stunt like that i'll rip out your left lung. very specifically just your left. also i'll be home by 2 tmrrw, come by whenever. i'll leave the door open. and happy new year. -b x**_  

Steve grinned as he reread the message for the third time, getting to his feet and heading over to the sink to wash his right hand whilst quickly tapping out a response with his left.

**_TO: BUCKY_ **

**_FROM: STEVIE_ **

**_What happened to never talking to me again?_ **

Bucky responded within a matter of seconds.

_**TO: STEVIE** _

_**FROM: BUCKY**_

**_dont push it babe_ **

*

 

Bucky winced as he lifted his hand out from under the steady stream of running water from the faucet, examining it.

"Dude," Natasha whistled from beside him, shaking her head so her hair bounced around her face. "You should really see the nurse about that."

Bucky whined, flexing his fingers just to see if he could. "Is it supposed to feel like I stroked the sun?"

"Well, yeah. That's what happens when you burn yourself."

"Aagh…"

"You're an idiot."

"Shut up, it wasn't my fault."

She gave him a look. "Wasn't it?"

"Well, a little. But not completely."

Natasha just rolled her eyes. "Barnes. C'mon. Nurse."

"No, fuck that, I'm a teacher," Bucky shot back, giving his friend a glare as he cradled his hand. "Teachers don't go to the nurse."

"Oh really? Where do teachers go then?"

"They don't go anywhere," Bucky muttered, snatching a napkin off the counter and wrapping it around the burn that spanned practically the entire fleshy part of his thumb. "They deal with it like men."

Natasha just stared at him, perplexed. "Then thank god for women," she muttered, rolling her eyes as she grabbed his free hand. "We're going to the nurse. Now."

"I really _don't_ need to go to the nurse-"

"Shut up and stop being such a 12-year-old." Natasha dragged him out of the staff room by his wrist, ignoring the protests Bucky was making, and very forcefully and very much against his will pulled him down the corridor and towards the nurse's office."

"I've got a class in five minutes!"

"I'll deal with it."

"But _Nat-"_

"Did you not just hear me?"

A student walking in the other direction, a small blond boy with too-big glasses, stopped in his tracks, a frown appearing on his face. "Sergeant Barnes, sir? Don't we have history now?"

"Mr Barnes has hurt himself and is going to the nurse," Natasha announced loudly, not even bothering to stop walking and ignoring Bucky's attempts to break free of her death-grip on his arm. "He'll be with you presently."

"There's a pile of sheets on my desk!" Bucky yelled over his shoulder, twisting to try and look at the kid- Neil, his name was Neil. "If you could get the first couple questions done before I get there that would be great-"

"Here we are." Natasha yanked him forwards, nearly causing him to trip over his own feet, but thankfully that didn't happen because Bucky was actually really graceful.

… Lucky. He was lucky.

"I really don't need to be here," Bucky whined as he stared around at the empty chairs lining the wall, but Natasha shut him up with a fierce glare.

"You're gonna put some antiseptic on that and a proper bandage or something and then you're gonna go back to your class," she told him sternly. "Don't you dare leave before Peggy comes out here."

Bucky froze. _Oh god. Oh shit. Peggy. Steve's Peggy. Peggy Carter's the fucking nurse. Shit._ "Peggy," he repeated, and he could hear his voice gradually climbing an octave. "Oh my god, she's the nurse."

Natasha's glare didn't let up. "Yeah, so what? Just get some shit put on your hand and then you can leave, it'll take all of five minutes. I gotta go teach, I'll see you later."

And then she left.

Literally just left.

 _Completely_ abandoned him.

"Bucky?"

Bucky turned around, holding his hand absently against his chest. He was greeted by the sight of Peggy Carter standing in the doorway of the office, frowning slightly at him.

"What are you doing here? Teachers never come here."

Bucky grimaced. "I know. Nat made me come."

"Is something wrong?" The pretty woman with dark hair and scarlet lipstick raised an eyebrow as she got a glimpse of his hand, wrapped haphazardly in a napkin. She gestured to it. "What happened to your hand?"

"Well, to be completely honest with you, I made a bad bet."

A couple of minutes later he was leaning his hip against the doorframe of Peggy's office as she bustled about in the supply cupboard trying to find burn cream.

"It's probably nothing," Bucky insisted for the fourth time, and he heard Peggy's huff of irritation.

"It won't be nothing if it gets infected, smartass, now quit your yapping and tell me what happened."

Bucky shrugged slightly, examining his hand in the harsh white light of the room. "You wouldn't even believe me if I told you."

Peggy snorted, returning a couple of seconds later with a bandage in one hand and a tube of cream in the other. "Try me."

"Fine, you asked for it; you know Tony Stark?"

"Of course I know Tony friggin' Stark." She held out a hand and Bucky sighed, relinquishing his grip on his own wrist and thrust his stinging hand in her direction. "Bane of my life, that disaster of a man. At least twice a week there's kids coming in here demanding painkillers because his incessant talking during lessons has given them a migraine. Don't know how Pepper stands it."

Bucky snorted. "Yeah, well, I happened to mention to him that my aim is fantastic and he bet me ten bucks I couldn't throw a pen across the library and hit Barton's forehead."

Peggy raised her eyebrows without looking at him, carefully dabbing some of the cream onto the burn, and Bucky fought back a hiss of pain.

"What's that got to do with you burning yourself?"

"Well, I did it, and Clint got mad because apparently it's 'mean' or something to throw small objects at a disabled person- he's deaf- and I mean _really_ , I wasn't being mean, I just wanted to prove I could do it, and anyway he chased me around the library, and I tripped over a table and knocked Tony's mug and spilled scalding coffee all over my hand."

Peggy twisted the cap back on the cream and reached for the bandages. "Did you at least get the tenner?"

Bucky pouted. "No. He only gave me seven because I spilt his fuckin' coffee."

He managed to hold back a wince as Peggy began to tightly wrap his hand in the bandage. "Huh. That sucks."

"You bet it does," he grumbled.

After a short silence, Peggy was just about done wrapping up his hand. She put her arms on her hips as she stood back, giving him a slight nod. "All done. Maybe come back in a couple days or something just so I can make sure it's not infected or something, but it should be fine. Oh, and don't forget to wash it when you get home."

Bucky experimentally flexed his fingers, frowning down at his hand. "Thanks, I'll do that."

Peggy nodded. "Anything weird, you call me."

"I appreciate it." Bucky offered the nurse a lopsided grin before putting his good hand in his pocket and turning to walk out.

"Hey, wait-"

He paused, frowning, and slowly spinning on the spot to face her. "Yeah?"

Peggy was standing in front of him with her hands clasped in front of her stomach, absently twisting them together, and she was chewing her lip almost thoughtfully, as if she wasn't too sure what she wanted to say.

"You, um… You know Steve told me, right? About you guys?"

Bucky said nothing, unsure of how to respond to that particular statement, but thankfully he didn't have to, because Peggy continued;

"He- well, he didn't tell me, exactly, but he hinted as to what was going on. When we broke up. I don't mind, by the way, so don't get all on the defensive, and I'm not gonna tell anyone, but I just have to ask- for my own peace of mind really, and not because I'm pissed off or anything- but did you two… While me and him…?"

Bucky stared at her for a couple of agonisingly silent seconds, face a picture of complete bewilderment, before me managed to blink away his surprise in time to reply, "I'm sorry, what?"

Peggy raised a delicately plucked eyebrow. "Did you and him ever fool around while we were still dating?"

Bucky let out a squeak of surprise. "Oh my _god_ , _no_. No, of course not. Never. He's not that kind of- I mean, I'm not either, but he's _definitely_ not that kind of person."

"Okay." Peggy nodded slowly, brushing her hands absently down the sides of her shirt. "Good."

"I'm sorry though," Bucky offered after a few seconds, feeling his cheeks heat up as she glanced upwards to meet his gaze. "About how it all turned out."

"Nah, don't be. I'm good. He's happier with you anyway, I just wanted to make sure."

"Okay, well… We didn't."

"I didn't really think you did."

"Oh?"

Peggy shrugged. "He didn't seem like the type."

Bucky's lip quirked upward in a slight grin. "He's not."

She returned the smile. "Like I said; just wanted to make sure."

For a few seconds they stood there, facing each other awkwardly, not really sure what to say. Bucky was glad that they were cool- maybe not friends, exactly, but cool. Peggy _was_ pretty nice, and realistically Bucky definitely understood what Steve had seen in her... And for some reason he wasn't particulaly concerned that she was the only person outside his immediate circle of close friends that knew about him and Steve. Hell, if she was good enough for Steve, then she was good enough for him.

Then Peggy broke the silence.

"Don't you have a lesson you're supposed to be teaching?"

Bucky swore as he crashed into a student on the way out.

 

*

 

"Wait, how do you spell that?"

"Can you write it on the board please?"

Bucky nodded as he turned away from the students, flipping the whiteboard pen into the air before catching it and tugging off the cap. Fortunately, even with his stupid bandage on, he was still capable of holding a pen. "L-O-C-A-R-N-O."

"Locarno," one of the boys in the front row- Andy- repeated, eyes narrowing. "And when was it signed again?"

Bucky collapsed back down into his chair and threw his feet haphazardly up onto his desk. "Officially? December 1st 1925. Doesn't it say that on your handouts?"

"No," chorused at least four people at the same time.

"Huh, sorry," Bucky frowned. "My bad. Did I get the part about the Nobel Prize in there?"

"Yes."

"Yeah."

"Mhm!"

"Okay, great. Think you can answer the first two questions on the second sheet I gave you?"

"Are we allowed to ask each other for help sir?" Peter piped up.

Bucky shrugged. "Sure, as long as you keep any and all discussions between yourselves to German foreign policy in the 1920s- I don't wanna hear about anything that happened after 1935, and that includes how you spent your Christmas holidays. Got it?"

There was another group muttering of 'yes sir', and everyone got to work (so Bucky hoped) on their question papers, and Bucky could play Tetris on his computer. He didn't have anything _else_ to do. 

It wasn't until the giggling from the back of the room grew so loud that eventually Bucky knew he couldn't even _pretend_ he hadn't heard it that he looked up with a sigh. 

"Annie, Melissa? Either you've just read my sarcastic and frankly Pulitzer-worthy paragraph on Neville Chamberlain, or you're not actually doing the work I've set you and are just gossiping away back there. Don't make me move you to the front, you _know_ I get confused when you guys change seats." 

"Sorry sir," Annie giggled, and as soon as she glanced sideways at her friend they both collapsed into giggles again.

Bucky wasn't amused. "Something you'd like to share?" He didn't miss Annie sneaking her phone back into her bag.

Melissa might as well have had hearts for eyes when she smiled at him and replied, "It's nothing sir, we've just got the giggles."

"I noticed," Bucky muttered, jabbing in their general direction with the end of the hockey stick he kept leant against his desk for when he couldnt reach the light switch. "Stop chattering and get back to work."

Not even five seconds later, his phone rang.

Bucky sighed, gesturing to the buzzing landline he'd been provided by the school. "You guys mind if I take this?" After bearing witness to the general consensus of 'no', Bucky picked up the phone. "This is Barnes."

A breathless, excited female voice greeted him at the other end. "Jamie? It's Jessica; why aren't you answering your cell? I have news!"

 _Jess? Christ, who died,_ he couldnt help but think, before shaking himself out of that particularly negative and cynical mindset and clearing his throat.

"I'm actually in the middle of a class right now; is it important?" Bucky frowned into the receiver, spinning in his swivel chair to face the whiteboard as he scratched absently at his chin.

"Yes! Well, I think so. It's _good_ news."

"What is it?"

"It's about Sascha; he's not going to prison!"

Bucky sat up straight in his chair, eyes going wide. " _What?"_ He repeated slightly louder, before glancing over his shoulder to wince an apology at his students, who were all eyeing him with obvious curiosity. "Get back to work," he prompted with a slight wave of his hand before hissing into the phone, "But the case was _airtight_ , _how_ did the lawyer manage-"

"Defence fell apart! A drug lord shot the witness!"

Bucky had to physically restrain himself from slamming his head down on the desk. "And I repeat; _what?!"_  

His sister sighed. "I know, it's awful really, but with their primary witness murdered by Cubans they no longer think Sascha's crew had anything to do with the drugs."

"The _Cubans_ \- that's unbelievable."

"I know, right? Anyway, he's going straight back to university as soon as he can but he told Ma to pass on the message that he'd be coming home for your birthday. And also, he's asked if you could wire him some more money."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "How considerate of him. Look, I gotta go but I'll call you later to hear more about this."

"Gotcha; love you!"

"Love you too." He clicked the receiver back into place, and when he looked up again he was greeted by 25 pairs of eyes, locked intently and curiously on his own.

"Sir, who was that?"

"Was that your girlfriend?"

"What incident? What happened?"

"First of all," Bucky interrupted, frowning as he leaned back in his chair, "that was my _sister_ , and second, it's none of your business-"

He was interrupted by Wade: "But sir, you answered the phone during our lesson time. We have a right to know why."

"That's not how that works!"

"What did you mean about a case and Cubans, Sergeant? Are you still working for the government?"

"What? No! Get back to work, Peter!"

"We'll go back to work as soon as you tell us what that call was about," one of the other boys tried to compromise.

Bucky groaned loudly. "This is what I get for trying to be the cool teacher, isn't it."

Melissa snorted. "Don't flatter yourself."

He frowned. "Oi!"

"Tell us what the call was about!"

"Are you forgetting the balance of power here? Which one of us is the teacher again?"

"But siiiiiir-"

"Wade, it was a private phone call, and the next person to ask me about it gets three days taken off their next essay deadline. You got that?"

There was a resounding silence.

Bucky smirked to himself. "That's what I thought."

 

*

 

"I'm never coming to visit you ever again," Bucky growled at Natasha as she sashayed past him on the couch, carrying a small grey ball of fur in her arms. The thing meowed, and Bucky sneezed.

"Oh, grow a pair, you're not _that_ allergic."

"Are you kidding? I'm-" he sneezed again- " _horrifically_ allergic! Half my family is! My eyes are actually watering right now."

Natasha shrugged, sitting primly down on the edge of the coffee table with the tiny kitten in her arms. "Not _my_ problem, Barnes."

"I'm having words with Clint about his Christmas present."

"Hey, don't you go blaming him for your shitty genetics. Tony and Pepper couldn't keep _all_ the kittens, he was just trying to help out. And besides, look at how cuuute she is," Natasha cooed, holding the cat out towards Bucky.

He could feel his eyes beginning to burn. 

"Get that thing away from me," he demanded, scooting away from her. "Jesus Nat, are you trying to put me into shock?"

"'That thing' has a name," the redhead retorted, smoothing out the kitten's fur, "and it's Kiska."

" _Kiska?_ As in ' _kitty'?_ Wow, Nat, way to be original," Bucky snarked back, crossing his arms tightly and sneezing into the side of his arm. 

"Oh, you have no right to be rude about her name. Remember your pet mouse? What was his name again? Squeak?"

"Aw," Steve absently put in from where he was marking Health and Nutrition papers at Natasha's kitchen table. "That's adorable."

"Shut up," Bucky said automatically, flinching as the cat batted out a paw at him. "It's like they can smell fear; can they smell fear? Do they know when people hate them?"

"Yes," Natasha and Steve both answered at the same time.

"Cats are literally- (sneeze)- the devil incarnate," Bucky muttered, more so to himself than anyone else.

"Then why are you sat over here with me?! Go over there and be negative with your boyfriend instead, I don't want to listen to your shit."

"Don't," Steve warned, "I'm working."

"Does nobody love me enough to care that I'm _dying?!"_

That at least earned him a sympathetic look from Steve. "Look, as soon as I'm done, we can go. I can't get the mark scheme on my internet, remember? I won't be any more than like half an hour, I promise."

Bucky groaned. "Stevie, I don't know if I'll live that long."

Natasha coughed. "Drama queen."

"Just let me finish these last couple and then we can leave."

"If I die while I'm waiting it's on you," Bucky muttered, narrowing his eyes at the purring kitten on Natasha's lap. "I can feel my throat closing up already."

Steve sighed. "You know, you _could_ just go without me."

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "Why would I wanna do that?"

"Thought you said you were dying," Natasha said sweetly.

Bucky gave her a look. "Thought you said you weren't listening to my shit."

"Nuh-huh, I said I didn't want to. Never said I wasn't listening."

Steve waved an arm in Bucky's direction. "Buck, just go, I'll meet you there in a bit."

Bucky pouted. "But I don't wanna."

"You might as well!"

"But it'll be _boring_ -" He cut himself off with a sneeze.

"Oh, you two actually have plans? I thought you were just going back to yours, Steve." Natasha placed the squirming kitten down on the floor, and it immediately clawed its way up the couch to stare at Bucky from the opposite cushion. Bucky stared right on back.

"Nah, we were gonna go grab a drink with Tony and Peps."

"Shame Tony's going; if it was just Pepper I might tag along."

"What, you hate Stark that much?"

Natasha snorted. "Hate him? No, I don't hate him, he just irritates me."

Bucky grinned. "He irritates most people. One hell of a character though, am I right?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "You only like him because he buys into your stupid bets."

"You're damn right I do." His phone pinged in his lap, and he glanced down to read the text that had just come through. "Hey, Henry's got a new girlfriend."

"He just texted to tell you? That is _so_ sweet," Steve was smiling, and Bucky found himself grinning back.

"I'm his favourite." Bucky sneezed, then glared at the cat.

Steve rolled his eyes as Natasha laughed. "Anyway, Buck, I'm gonna be a while yet. I'll meet you there."

"I can't turn up to a double date _without_ my date, Stevie," Bucky complained, letting his head flop back onto the couch.

"It isn't a double date if they don't know you're dating," Steve pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

Natasha looked vaguely surprised. "You haven't told them?"

Bucky shrugged limply. "We haven't really told anyone."

"How come?"

"Just doesn't come up," Steve replied with the same idle shrug as Bucky. "And I don't really know how Fury would react, to be honest with you."

"Oh, like he'd care."

Steve raised his eyebrows. "So you've told him about you and Clint, have you?"

Natasha almost blushed. Almost. "Alright, point taken."

Bucky grinned. "Classy."

"That doesn't make sense," Steve pointed out.

Bucky frowned. "Stop raining on my parade, asshole, I've wanted to use that word for ages."

Natasha hopped up from the sofa and disappeared into the bathroom, shaking her head at him.

"But you didn't use it in the right context, Buck, it doesn't make-" Steve cut himself off with a sigh, pressing a finger to his temple. "Fucking hell, you're so distracting. Go _away_ already, I gotta finish my work or we'll _never_ get there; just go and I'll meet you in the bar in half an hour, tops."

Bucky laughed, stretching as he got to his feet and making sure to edge around the back of the couch so as to avoid the cat. "Promise?"

"Promise," Steve agreed, catching Bucky by the arm as he made to grab his jacket off the back of Steve's chair. "Order me a pint?"

Bucky gave him a mock-dubious look. "I dunno, Steve, you've been kind of a dick lately-"

Steve laughed, letting go of his arm and smacking him on the ass. "Fuck you."

"Fuck me? Fuck _you!"_

 _"James!"_ Came Natasha's yell from the bathroom, and then the door was slamming open and she was glaring at him with a furious expression on her face. "When you're in _my_ apartment you have to _put the fucking toilet seat down!_ How hard is it to remember that?!"

Bucky gave her an apologetic grin. "Sorry Nat. I'm not used to living with girls."

"Sorry's not good enough; I nearly fell in the fucking toilet."

Bucky couldn't help it; he snorted with laughter.

" _Fuck off!"_ Natasha yelled at him, and Bucky gave her a sarcastic salute, before dodging the pillow she threw at him and slamming the apartment door behind him as he darted outside. He could hear Steve yelling  _"I'll text you!"_ as he sprinted down the stairs, fearing Natasha would chase him out.

He was right. She did.

 

*

 

Steve had already ordered and received his coffee, and was seated comfortably on one of the couches in the little cafe at the end of his street by the time Sam finally caught up to him, practically falling through the door, chest heaving.

Steve grinned widely at him from across the cafe, giving him a little wave.

Sam narrowed his eyes, shaking his head as he walked over to where Steve was sitting. "One of these days," he huffed out, "I'll be able to keep up with you."

Steve laughed. "I doubt it."

Sam collapsed down onto the couch beside him, clapping one hand to his chest and taking a deep breath. "Damn, Rogers, where'd you even learn to run like that?"

Steve shrugged. "Good question."

"How long've you been here?"

"About… Seven minutes?"

"Fuck me…" Sam shook his head, and Steve laughed. "Are you sure you don't know any shortcuts you ain't telling me about?"

Steve grinned. "Nah, I'm not a cheat."

"I'm sure." Sam checked his watch. "Okay, I've got about twenty minutes before I have to be at the clinic. Wanna buy me quick coffee to make up for whooping my ass?"

"Bitch please, you should be paying for mine."

Sam just laughed, getting to his feet and heading over to the counter, where the barista seemed to be having some trouble with the cash register and was causing a bit of a queue.

Steve knew Sam worked extra hours at the VA clinic on Saturday afternoons, which was why they usually went for their weekly run in the morning, but Steve had been late today, purely because he'd been so busy yelling at the douchebag student who lived on the floor above his. The damn kid's super loud music at 3AM wasn't appreciated by anyone, especially not the old lady in the flat next door and _especially_ not Steve, and the entire building would really appreciate it if he just toned it down a little. 

So Steve had gone upstairs and told him so, and that had resulted in a minor argument, which in turn resulted in Steve being almost an hour late for his run. Sam hadn't exactly been impressed, but hey, what could Steve do? Nobody else in his building was gonna say anything. It was like talking to your neighbours was illegal unless you had nodded at them for at least ten years in this fucking neighbourhood.

While Sam was waiting in line to order his usual decaf cappuccino, Steve's phone buzzed from where it was sat abandoned on the coffee table. He picked it up and unlocked it.

_**TO: STEVE R** _

_**FROM: TASHA** _

_**hey Steve, I'm with James and he wants me to tell you that his phone's dead but he's still ok to do dinner. date night? tell Sam I say hi. Nxx** _

Confused, Steve tapped out a quick response.

_**TO: TASHA** _

_**FROM: STEVE R** _

_**Thanks for letting me know. Not so much date night- I'm giving him a cooking lesson, the guy's almost thirty and it's about time he learned how to make a damn lasagna. How'd you know I was with Sam?** _

Steve glanced up from his phone just in time to watch as Sam edged forwards another place in line. They made eye contact for a second, and Steve grinned at him, offering the thumbs up. Sam just grimaced.  

His phone buzzed again, and Steve looked down.

_**TO: STEVE R** _

_**FROM: TASHA** _

_**you two always go running on Saturdays.**_

"Texting the boyf?" Sam teased with a smirk as he collapsed down into the chair opposite Steve, coffee in hand.

Steve grinned up at him, crossing his arms and leaning back into the cushions. "Tasha, actually. She says hi."

"Oh, sick." Sam took a long sip of the coffee, seemingly immune to how hot it was, before adding, "You know, if Clint wasn't in there-"

"What a visual," Steve commented with a roll of his eyes.

Sam just ignored him and plowed on, "-I would definitely take a shot. I almost asked her out once, but then I was like no, actually, if this goes bad _I'll_ be the one that has to change my name and move across the state."

"What on earth gave you that impression?"

"Because _Natasha_ , man, that chick is _badass_. I feel like if I broke her heart I would _definitely_ know about it the next day."

Steve raised his eyebrows. "You gonna break her heart or something, Wilson?"

"Fuck no. But, you know, women." Sam took another sip of coffee. "Well, maybe not women in your case."

Steve snorted. "Dick."

"My point exactly. How's it all going with Barnes anyway?"

Steve laughed, shaking his head at his widely grinning friend. "Good," he admitted anti-climatically after a few seconds, suddenly intrigued by a small burn mark on the coffee table. "Things are going good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Steve ran a thumb over the blackened wood. "He's a really great person, Sam. I'm lucky."

"He's handling all his shit okay?"

Steve raised his eyebrows. "His 'shit'?"

Sam shrugged. "Well, yeah. Dead brother, _gang_ brother, alcoholic father-"

"His dad's not an alcoholic," Steve interrupted loudly, frowning.

Sam paused. he gave. Steve a look, motioning for him to go on.

"He's just stressed," Steve tried to explain. Not that he'd ever met the man, but from what he'd been able to make out from Bucky's frequent phone calls with Henry it seemed like the right thing to say. "He's dealing with a lot, and people deal with that kind of stuff in different ways. He's army; he drinks to deal. So what?"

Sam whistled. "Alright."

"Don't you dare tell Bucky you think his dad's an alcoholic. He doesn't need that."

"Alright," Sam said again, holding up his hands. "I won't."

"Good," Steve said lamely. He leaned back into his chair.

"Are you guys... Happy, together?"

"I'm happy. _We're_ happy."

"Are you?"

Steve raised an eyebrow, grinning up at Sam. "Yeah, dude, I am. Why're you going all Mr Cynicism on my ass?"

Sam laughed, shrugging before hiding his mouth behind his coffee cup again. "I'm not! Just making sure all's where it should be, that's all. I want you to be happy, Steve."

"Remind me to never again befriend a counsellor."

Sam snorted. "Nope, too late, it's happened now and I can introduce you into the rest of my circle. Before you know it, you'll be swimming in therapists."

"I thought you always vehemently denied that you were a therapist?"

"Nah, that's just something I tell Darcy to make her feel better."

"And how does that make _you_ feel?"

Sam let out a loud laugh, kicking Steve in the shins under the table. "Dude, no."

 

*

 

"You're late," was the first thing Steve said to Bucky as he pulled open his front door, staring accusingly at the shorter man in the hallway.

Bucky gave him an apologetic look. "I know, sorry. I got distracted in the grocery store. Did you know that there's, like, ten different types of tomato?"

Steve raised an eyebrow as Bucky shouldered past him and into the apartment, carrying 3 grocery bags per hand and his backpack, which was slung haphazardly over his shoulder. "There's more than that."

"Really?"

"Yeah, there's thousands."

"Huh, no shit." Bucky went straight into the kitchen and dumped the bags unceremoniously on Steve's countertop, ignoring the clattering sound made by a fork as it was knocked off the counter and landed on the tiled floor. "Do they all taste the same though? I bet they fuckin' do. What's the point of having, like, a thousand different kinds of the same fucking vegetable?"

Steve grinned. "Did the different types of tomatoes stress you out?"

Bucky huffed, "Yes! You just said 'tomatoes', I didn't know which ones you fucking wanted; I had to enlist the help of the fifteen year old girl who was stacking the canned soups in the next isle over, do you have any idea how embarrassing that was? I'm a grown ass man, Stevie, a fully mature adult."

"Who's never bought a vegetable in his entire life."

"I've bought vegetables! Like, peas, and potatoes and shit." Bucky folded his arms across his chest haughtily. "My sister _hated_ tomatoes, we never ate them. Now are you gonna teach me how to cook or what?" 

Steve just grinned at him, shaking his head. "I honestly have no idea how you manage to stay in shape."

He received a sarcastic glare in return. "I do a lot of yoga."

Twenty minutes later Steve had put Bucky to work slicing the tomatoes, and was busying himself with rolling out the sheets of pasta.

"I've always loved lasagne," Bucky mused idly as he turned to face Steve, leaning his hip against the countertop and folding his arms. "What I don't get, though, is how exactly it came to exist. Like really? Who sees a long strip of pasta and thinks, 'ah yes, I could make a pasta/meat/cheese cake out of this.'"

Steve snorted. "I don't think that's what they were thinking."

Bucky shook his head. "Fucking Italians."

"Pizza's pretty much the same thing, you don't seem to be too bothered about _that_."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "That's a good point."

"Spaghetti bolognese?"

"Not a cake," Bucky pointed out. 

"True," Steve conceded. "Are you done with the tomatoes?"

Bucky shrugged. "I think so. I didn't know how chopped you wanted them." He picked up a dish towel and began wiping at the countertop, which was covered with specks of tomato juice.

Steve glanced over his shoulder to check the tomatoes. "That's fine. You wanna help me with the pasta?"

Bucky grinned. "Oh I get to help now, do I?"

Steve rolled his eyes.

Bucky continued, "Because, ten minutes ago when I tried to help, I seem to remember _somebody_ shoving me out of the way and saying I was taking up too much of his pasta-zone space-"

Steve laughed, thrusting his hand out and punching Bucky lightly in the forearm. "You were in the way!"

"I was _not_ in the way, you were just being anal."

Steve laughed, rolling his eyes and he turned to rifle through one of Bucky's grocery bags. "Whatever, jackass. Did you get the cheese?"

"Yeah, fool, I got the cheese. I may not exactly be wise where cooking is concerned but I'm smart enough to realize that there's cheese in a fucking lasagne," Bucky snorted sarcastically, flicking the dishtowel in his hand and smacking Steve on the ass with it. 

"Just checking..." Steve paused as he spotted something unexpected in the bag amongst the various ingredients, picking it up and turning to hold it out to Bucky with a confused expression on his face. "Uhh... Is this mistletoe?"

"Oh, yeah! I forgot about that." Bucky snatched it out of his hand and grabbed the bag, searching through it for a second before pulling out a tape dispenser.

Steve watched him with a raised eyebrow. "Buck, Christmas was almost a month ago."

"No, I know," Bucky assured him as he shouldered past, stepping onto the seat of one of Steve's dining chairs and attempting to tape the mistletoe to the ceiling.

Steve stared. "What are you doing?"

"I'm putting this on the ceiling," his boyfriend explained in a matter-of-fact voice.

"...Why?"

"Because we never kissed under any at Christmas," Bucky pointed out. "I saw some in the grocery store and just figured I might as well."

Steve grinned, folding his arms across his chest. "That's weirdly sentimental, Bucky."

"Well I can always take it down if you hate it _that_ much," Bucky started in a teasing voice as he hopped down from the chair, grinning widely over at Steve. "If it _bothers_ you."

"It's admittedly strange, but hey, I'll take any Hallmark excuse to make out with you."

"Mistletoe is _not_ Hallmark!" Bucky gasped, and the look on his face made Steve full on snort with laughter. "It's a centuries-old tradition, Steve!"

Steve just shrugged, grinning. "In that case, my ceiling is honoured."

"You're such a shit."

"You love me," Steve teased, reaching out and wrapping his arms around Bucky's waist, tugging him tightly against his chest.

Bucky laughed, shoving at his arms. "Get off me, you punk!"

"Nope; mistletoe." Steve pointed to the ceiling with a smirk.

"You're super annoying."

"Merry Christmas!"

"You're making my attempt at being romantic into a joke," Bucky complained as he dropped his head onto Steve's shoulder.

"I'm not!"

"Yes you are!"

Steve laughed, pressing his lips lightly to the top of Bucky's head. "Sorry."

Bucky lifted his head up, grinning as he rested his hands on Steve's hips. "It's okay, you can make it up to me by taking my mistletoe seriously."

"Mm," Steve teased with a mock-thoughtful look, "okay."

"Okay?" Bucky shot him one of his trademark charming grins that made Steve's head spin.

"Okay," he repeated with a laugh.

Bucky smiled. "Okay." He tilted his head upwards and leaned back slightly in Steve's arms, pressing their mouths together.

They remained like that for almost thirty seconds, lips and tongues and teeth sliding together in a routine that they'd rehearsed to perfection over the last few months. The kitchen was silent save the steady whirring of the washing machine and the wet, quiet sound of mouths pushing together and dragging messily apart again.

Eventually Steve broke away with a smile, running his tongue once across his lips. "We need to finish the lasagne if we wanna eat tonight."

Bucky laughed, and his eyes lit up in a way that Steve knew he would never get tired of, not ever. "So _this_ is what being married is like."

Steve snorted. "Oh, fuck you."

"я тебя люблю," Bucky chuckled, and there was a softness to his eyes that Steve had never seen; a quiet happiness in the way he smiled down at the ground as he pulled out of Steve's arms. Fuck, he wished he spoke Russian.

"If you just swore at me, I resent that," Steve teased, watching as Bucky went over to Steve's fridge and helped himself to one of the beers on the shelf in the door.

Bucky snorted. "Oh please, you have no way of knowing what I just said to you. I might've just proposed." He opened the glass bottle with his teeth, spitting out the cap and taking a sip.

That, Steve was fairly certain, was a joke. He grinned. "You're an idiot."

Bucky stuck his tongue out. "Rude! You want a drink?"

Steve smiled. "I could murder one."

Bucky tossed him a beer. "Can I smoke in here?"

"For the thousandth time: _no."_

Bucky pouted. "Then I'll have to go sit in the snow on the fire escape in a bit. By myself. In the cold."

Steve just rolled his eyes. "Your own fault you have a reliance on those fucking cancer sticks. I'm not letting _any_ of that shit into my asthmatic lungs."

Bucky frowned, and Steve thought he looked slightly offended. "Stevie, I've never smoked within _three meters_ of you for that _exact_ reason-"

"I know," Steve interrupted, holding up his hands in surrender. "Hey, I know. Just, no smoking in my apartment, okay? Quit asking, I'm not changing my mind. And to be honest, I really think you should consider quitting." He realized as soon as he said it that he'd overstepped with that last part; the smoking was a kind of crutch. Natasha had explained as much. He'd picked it up in the army and never quite managed to let it go. Granted, two packs a week was really not healthy, but Steve wasn't going to be the one to take away his crutch. Not yet.

He was even about to apologise for his comment when Bucky replied:

"Ain't that a choice the addict has to make for himself?" Bucky's teasing smirk was back; Steve's felt relief wash through him. They'd never really fought over anything serious, and Steve wasn't exactly hoping to start today.

"Well, a little friendly push from a friend can't hurt," Steve teased, knocking his elbow lightly into Bucky's arm.

Bucky laughed, raising his bottle to his mouth. He ran his tongue once across his lips before taking a long swig. "Well then, if you're done with the lecture, shall we continue with our plans for this evening?" He said in a teasing voice, gesturing to the abandoned half-made lasagne on the counter. "I'm hungry."

Steve watched with a grin as Bucky turned his back to him and reached for one of the grocry bags, rooting through it for the cheese. He was humming softly to himself, resting most of his weight on his left hip, and Steve just caught sight of a strip of smooth skin between his belt and the hem of his cotton shirt when he leaned forwards to grab a plate.

It was the little things like that that made it clear as crystal to Steve. It was the way he chewed on his thumbnail when he was trying to concentrate, and the way his eyes crinkled in the corners when he laughed, and how his fingers began to twitch absently when he needed a cigarette. It was his stupid out-of-tune humming, and the way his shirts were slightly all too small for him so they rode up whenever he moved. It was how he rubbed his temples with his index fingers when he talked to any given family member. It was in those stupid small moments, when Steve would watch him each breakfast, or smoke by himself on the fire escape, or hear him singing in the shower, that he couldn't help but think- not say, never say-  _my god, I love you._

_I do._

_I love you._

 

*

 

Steve was being really annoying.

Really, very annoying.

 _So_ annoying.

And eventually, Bucky couldn't take it anymore.

" _Oh my god,"_ he burst out, slamming his pen onto the desk of his classroom with much more force than was necessary. "Steve, honey, if you dont stop with the _fucking bubbles_ , I am going to _skin_ you."

Steve just stared back from the opposite side of the desk with a faux innocent expression, holding the bubble wand in one hand and the container of soapy mixture in the other. He was sitting in one of the student's chairs, having pulled it closer to the front, and he had put his feet up casually on Bucky's desk. Without saying a word, he dipped the wand into the mixture.

"Don't you dare," Bucky warned, narrowing his eyes.

Steve slowly brought the wand up to his face without breaking eye contact.

" _Steve_."

A cascade of bubbles errupted directly into Bucky's face, and it took all of his willpower not to scream. "God fucking _damn it,"_ he groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Steve, _please_ , I have to _work."_

Steve was laughing so hard he almost fell out of his chair. Under any normal circumstances, Bucky would've found it adorable. But today it was just frustrating. "Stop it," Bucky practically begged, "Stevie, come ooon..."

It was halfway through lunchbreak on the last Thursday of January, and for the last half hour Bucky had been trying to finish marking the homework for his next class- a task which became increasingly more difficult with the arrival of his boyfriend who, seemingly unable to behave like an adult when it was actually required of him, had taken up trying to make Bucky's day as miserable as possible.

"You should've done your marking last night," Steve smirked, raising an eyebrow. "This is what happens when you procrastinate."

"I had the choice between doing work and doing _you_ ," Bucky snapped back, reaching for his pen. "Which did you think I was gonna choose?"

"You could've finished this afterwards, instead of watching that stupid Drugs Inc programme on TV."

"Oh come on, that show is _gold!"_

Steve laughed loudly, and Bucky found himself grinning against his will. He hated that Steve had that effect on him.

Steve blew him a kiss.

Bucky felt his cheeks go scarlet.

It was then that there was a hesitant knock on Bucky's door, and a brown-haired head poked it's way inside. "Mr Barnes? Sorry... Do you have a minute?"

"Peter," Bucky frowned, surprised. The usually bubbly kid looked like something was really eating him. He elbowed Steve's feet off his desk. "Of course, come on in..." 

Steve got to his feet as the tall teenager entered Bucky's classroom, hands deep in his pockets, glancing around as though he were uncomfortable, despite having lessons in this classroom four times a week. 

"I'll catch you later, Buck," Steve muttered softly as he stepped around him, clapping his shoulder before heading to the door, left open by the student. He was gone in a second, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Peter Parker sat himself down in the chair that had recently been vacated, clearing his throat and looking around the familiar room with a nervous expression, like he was beginning to change his mind about coming after all.

Bucky was a little confused. He'd never had a student come and ask him for help like this before- that is, if it wasn't related to homework, and judging by the look on Peter's face, this wasn't. He chewed on his lip for a moment, before setting his pen down on the table and leaning forward on his elbows. "Is there something I can help with?"

"Uh, yeah. I... I need to talk to you."

Bucky nodded, raising an eyebrow. "Right. Take your time, kid."

"I... Umm... Okay." Peter cleared his throat, crossing his legs and running a hand through his hair. "Okay," he repeated. "First of all, Sir, I have to explain the background bit."

Bucky said nothing, unsure of _what_ to say, but he gave the boy an encouraging nod.

Peter continued, "I'm pretty good with computers and cameras and technology and stuff."

"Okaaay," Bucky said slowly, scratching absently at his chin.

"And, um, I sorta... Found your Instagram, and stuff," Peter mumbled, wincing, "and I'm real sorry to bring it up, Sarge, I am, but some of the photos- I mean, I know- um, I know you're _gay,_ and"

"Hold up," Bucky interrupted, eyebrows knitting together in a deep frown. Irritation and anxiety had merged into one and bubbled up in his stomach, making him feel a bit sick. "Peter, you do understand that I'm your _teacher_ , don't you, not your friend, and that this kind of behavior towards a member of staff is _highly_ inappropriate-"

"No," Peter's eyes went wide, and his next words came out all in a rush. "I know, I do, and I haven't... I haven't said anything to anyone, I promise, the only reason I'm telling you I know is because I need someone to talk to because I think I might be gay as well."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Bucky rested his chin on his hands, clasped together with his elbows resting on the desk. After a few seconds of avoiding Peter's eyes, Bucky looked up at the kid opposite him- who seemed to be on the verge of literally shitting himself. 

"First of all," Bucky started firmly, and Peter jumped slightly in his chair. Bucky sighed. "First of all, Peter, stalking teachers on social media isn't okay, it's a serious breach of privacy. Not okay. Under any circumstances. Like, at all. You could get into a lot of trouble for that, and if I wanted to..." He took a deep breath, rubbing at his temples with his fingers. "Well, forget that. Consider this a warning though, alright, and if I catch you again-"

The poor boy's face had gone bright red, and he was nodding vehemently. "Of course, I understand, I'm really sorry Sir, I'm really really sorry..."

Bucky was also about to lecture him on how queer and gay weren't necessarily the same thing, and just because Bucky was at present with a guy didn't make him gay, but he changed his mind just as he opened his mouth. Getting into a debate about the political correctness of his sexuality wasn't particularly high on his to-do list. So instead, he changed the subject.

"So you think you might be gay, huh?"

Peter's face grew impossibly redder. "Yes sir."

"And... You decided to tell me instead of Mr Wilson? Or your aunt and uncle?"

"I... I wanted to talk to someone who understood," came the nervous, quiet reply, and Bucky felt a sudden surge of sympathy towards this kid. He _got_ it, he really did. The questions, the internal battle, the pure morality of it... He understood.

"Okay." Bucky nodded, chewing on his lip. "Well... You should know that it's okay. There's nothing wrong with you." _I wish someone had told_ me _that_. "It's okay to have questions, and to not be sure... Oh, and it's okay to change your mind. Sexuality, it's... It's fluid. There can be exceptions. And that's okay too. And you don't _have_ to tell anyone. It's personal. You decide when, where, and who you wanna tell." _  
_

Peter was twisting his hands in his lap, eyes locked on the pen on Bucky's desk. "Okay," he said hoarsely.

Bucky watched him with sympathy in his gaze. "Hey, kid. Look. It's not the end of the world; trust me, I know. And besides, girls aren't all that great anyway."

"They're not?"

"Nope. You're not missing out."

"Oh."

Bucky grinned, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "Hey Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"You okay, kid?"

Peter almost smiled, scratching at the back of his neck. "Yeah, I'm okay. I just... I needed someone to know."

"I get that."

"Thanks for not yelling at me too much, I know I crossed a line."

Bucky shrugged. "Just don't pull a trick like that again. And... Maybe just keep it between us, okay?"

Peter gave him a questioning look.

Bucky sighed. "Just don't go around telling people about me, right? It's private. Quid pro quo- I won't tell on you if you don't tell on me."

Finally, Peter cracked a grin. "We, like, conspiring now?"

"Ehh, call it what you like."

The teenager laughed. "Nice."

Bucky grinned at him. He was a good kid, really. A little weird sometimes, kind of quiet, didn't really talk to anyone besides Gwen and Wade... But he was a good kid. 

"Is there anything else? Sorry, don't mean to kick you out, but I haven't finished my marking for next period and I'm up to my ass in essays..." He gestured to the huge pile beside him with a grimace.

Peter got to his feet, smiling and shaking his head. "That's it. Thank you, Sarge. Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Glad I could help, kinda. At the end of the day, Peter, you can't change who you are. And that's a good thing, because you're awesome."

Peter beamed. "Right."

Bucky grinned. "Go get 'em."

Peter was laughing as he left, and Bucky found himself in an inexplicably good mood. He'd helped someone. Just by existing and doing his thing, he'd helped someone.

Maybe if more people knew, he could help _them_ too.

 _I think it's time I told my parents_ , he thought to himself absently, chewing on the end of his pen. _I will. I'll tell them at my birthday dinner next week. I don't want to hide anymore._

It turned out to be one of the worst decisions he would ever make, but he didn't know that yet.

After all, how could he?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on tumblr at [macbeth-no](http://macbeth-no.tumblr.com) for any complaints, comments, or just for a chat, I spend half my life on that fucking website so I'll definitely get back to you if you send me an ask
> 
> hope you liked the chapter :)
> 
> -cat


	11. Blood vs. Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really beginning to sound like a broken record now, but wowie you guys am I sorry for the delay or what. spoilers: i'm super sorry. this was really emotionally exhausting to write, and i've been under so much pressure at college recently and idk, i'm just very stressed in general. there may be some errors in here that i haven't had time to go over, so if you spot any then just let me know
> 
> anyways. while i do hope you enjoy it, this chapter is really pretty dark. like, really dark. i've included triggers in the end notes that i 100% recommend checking out because it's honestly just that dark. it's not my intention to upset anyone, or trigger any of you, so pleasepleaseplease do me a favour and read the tags before proceeding. i'll be sure to update the main fic tags as well.
> 
> if anyone has any qualms with the way this was written, or about any of the details, please drop me a line either here or on tumblr at [macbeth-no](http://macbeth-no.tumblr.com), i'd love to hear any comments or criticisms that you guys have.
> 
> i love you all!
> 
> -cat

On the morning before Bucky Barnes' 30th birthday, he had to wake up at 5am. This was because he was a Good Friend and had agreed to pick up Natasha on his way to work, meaning he had to be up at least an hour before usual so he had time to get himself ready _and_ get to Nat's.

But despite taking all of the necessary precautions, he was already running ten minutes late by the time he reached Natasha's building.

"Next time, I'm asking Clint to drive me in," Natasha said snidely as she slid into the passenger seat, frowning over at a frazzled and frankly exhausted Bucky. "We're _both_ going to be late now."

"Yeah, speaking of Clint, why didn't you ask him to drive you _this_ time?" Bucky muttered irritably as he swung the car around, having to use almost all of his weight as a lever to change gear due to the sticky shift. 

"Because he had to get in early- like, really early- and I didn't want to be hanging around doing nothing for ages," Natasha pouted, seemingly unbothered by Bucky's driving as he ran through a red light, cursing to himself. "Hey, you know Steve's organised a surprise party for you tonight, right?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Well _now_ I do." A woman in a Honda Civic cut him off, and Bucky slammed his fist down on the horn as he opened his window and yelled, " _Nice driving, asshole!"_

"You're one to talk," Natasha commented innocently as the car hurtled around a corner, raising an eyebrow at him. "Someone's a Mr Grumpy Pants this morning, huh?"

"No coffee, up early, late for work- yeah," Bucky snapped, "bad day."

"It's only 8:45."

"Thanks, Nat, thank you."

"You've got a surprise party later though."

Bucky ran another red light, and someone's horn blared at him. He ignored it. "Yeah, I'll make sure to be real surprised."

"You will be, it's going to be great." Natasha picked at one of her nails. "I mean, now you know about the party, but there's still a great surprise that not even _I_ am going to ruin."

"Mazel tov," Bucky muttered, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently.

"I mean it, James, you're gonna _love_ it. You owe Steve; you know, he's been a real sweetheart about the whole thing."

"Has he?"

"He's coordinated with Tony and everything, it's going to be _great_. You'll have a blast, I swear. So, it's my job to casually meet you after work and ask if you want to come for a drink, and then take you down to the White Heart and then _bam_ \- big surprise, party poppers, tons of people, the whole deal."

"Why are you telling me if it's meant to be a big surprise?"

Natasha beamed over at him. "Because the waiting is more fun if you know what to expect, obviously. Then you look forward to it. And I didn't want you to be freaked out if all the lights come on at once and there's a huge outburst of noise and- well, you know the drill."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, keeping his eyes trained on the road. "That stuff doesn't bother me much anymore, Nat."

"Better safe than sorry. And this way I don't have to worry about slipping up and accidentally telling you something important." 

Bucky nearly missed his turning, and the car swerved violently around to the left at the last minute. "Well, at least it's in a bar, I could use a drink. Won't Steve be mad that you told me?"

His friend shrugged. "я не знаю. I just thought you should know how much effort the guy's put in. He really wants it to be special. So you have to act surprised. Anyone ever told you that you are a _terrible_ driver?" _(Tr: I don't know)_

"I'm in a rush," Bucky huffed as the car sped up the hill towards the school. "We're gonna be late."

Natasha snorted. "I'd rather be late than dead."

They pulled into the car park fifteen minutes late and definitely still alive, and therefore Bucky's mission was a failure but Natasha's a success. He switched the engine off and reached around to snatch his bag off the back seat before hopping out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him. He waited for Natasha to close her door before locking the car and half jogging up the steps towards the entrance.

"Why're you in such a rush?" Natasha called after him, hair bouncing gracefully on her shoulders as she sashayed calm as ever towards the entrance, and he could tell by her tone that she was very amused by the entire situation. Did she _ever_ have a bad day?

"I'm supposed to be giving my class a test this morning," he yelled back as he raced into the building, slipping slightly in his dress shoes on the linoleum floor. Finally however, twenty minutes late, he collapsed through his classroom door, out of breath and exhausted and dying for a coffee and a cigarette.

"I'm so sorry guys, I had- oh," he paused in the doorway, blinking in surprise. "Hi Ste- Mr Rogers."

Steve was sitting in the chair behind Bucky's desk, grinning widely and looking very pleased with himself. The students all seemed to be working, or at least they had been before Bucky's arrival, and now he had 22 pairs of curious eyes looking up at him.

"You're late."

Bucky rolled his eyes, entering the room and dropping his bag down beside his desk. "I know, I'm sorry. How come-"

"I have a free," Steve shrugged, "Fury asked me to watch them until you got here."

"He mad?"

"Nah. Confused though; you're never late. What happened?"

Bucky huffed irritably. "I was late picking up Nat." He turned back to the students as Steve lifted himself out of Bucky's chair. "So since it's already twenty minutes into class I figure it'd be unfair to start the test now-"

There was an immediate spattering of whoops and clapping.

"-so we're gonna have it tomorrow's lesson instead."

"Awww," came the almost unanimous groan, and Bucky found himself grinning.

"Sorry." He glanced over his shoulder at Steve. "Thanks for watching 'em."

Steve clapped him on the back. "Hey, no problem." He leaned forwards with a smirk, muttering into Bucky's ear. "By the way, I told them it was your birthday tomorrow and they're all planning a revolt. I don't think the test's gonna work out."

"Fuck you," Bucky half laughed, keeping his voice low so the students didn't hear.

Steve winked, grinned, and left the room, calling over his shoulder, "Good luck with the _test_ tomorrow, guys!"

"We really _are_ having a test," Bucky argued over the chatter that started up, ignoring the giggling in the back of the room from Annie and Melissa, as usual. "Don't think you can get out of it."

"But sir," Jackson was arguing, "we can't have a test on your birthday!"

"You sure can; _I_ won't be the one taking the test."

"But siiiir-"

"No buts."

 

*

 

Steve was more than a little anxious.

"Calm down," Sam snorted as he glanced sideways over at Steve, who was drumming his fingers impatiently on the table. Sam elbowed him in the ribs. "They'll come. Maybe it's just traffic."

"Tasha would've texted," Steve insisted. "If there was any kind of hold up, she would've let me know." 

"Clearly not," Sam pointed out with a raised eyebrow. "Man, look, just take a deep breath, okay? They'll be here, you know they will. Natasha wouldn't let you down like that."

Bucky was turning thirty tomorrow. Steve was pretty sure he wouldn't have wanted to talk about it at all if Steve hadn't forced his hand when he'd asked what Bucky wanted as a present; and the sour expression he'd received in return only reinforced the idea. All he'd responded with had been, "To be honest Stevie, I just want to sit at home and make out to The Killers," which hadn't really been the gift idea Steve was looking for.

"I don't want to be thirty," Bucky had complained one evening while they were curled up on the couch watching TV. "I like saying I'm in my twenties. Thirty, though… That's, like, the age when you've got to start taking shit seriously, you know?"

"You joined the army," Steve had pointed out. "That's pretty serious."

Bucky shrugged. "Eh. That's a different kind of serious. This is like, move-into-a-house-in-the-suburbs-with-a-dog-and-three-kids serious."

Steve sighed, slinging his arm around Bucky's shoulders. "Buck, it aint that bad."

"Just wait until _you_ turn thirty."

Steve had then gone on to ask what he wanted to do- if he wanted a party or something. And Bucky had said he couldn't, because it was a tradition or something for all of his siblings to go home when it was someone's birthday, and their mother would cook and it would be a family affair. So Steve had arranged a surprise party for the day before- tonight. With help from Tony he'd invited half the staff and pooled some money together to rent out and decorate the whole bar, and Natasha was supposed to discreetly bring Bucky there straight after work.

And Natasha was late.

Steve groaned loudly and Sam patted him on the back, smirking. "There there."

Almost as if on queue, Natasha glided into the bar in a deep red dress and black stilettos, with a black fur coat to finish off the whole look. She looked gorgeous, classy and intimidating, and Steve glanced over at Clint just in time to see him choke on the olive in his martini. He turned to Sam, who was staring with his jaw hanging open.

Steve rolled his eyes.

Natasha made her way over to where Steve was sitting with Sam in one of the booths beside the wall, ignoring the dozens of pairs of eyes following her as the click of her heels on the wooden floor drew their attention. "Sorry I'm late," she apologized with a grimace and she slid smoothly in beside Sam. "James is just outside parking the car. He'll be here any second."

"Where've you been?" Steve asked reproachfully, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

"He had to talk to a student about something 'really important' and 'it's personal, go away Natalia'." 

Steve grinned. "Does he suspect anything?"

Natasha flashed him a warm, promising smile. "Nope, not a thing." She made eye contact with Clint from across the room, who waved a little dorkily at her, eyes still watering from when he'd choked on his drink. She grinned, waving back.

Then the door was pushed open and Bucky strode in, one gloved hand still in his pocket, and Steve watched as he jumped slightly at the clapping that started up; at the 35 or so people yelling 'happy birthday!' all at once. He looked just as good as he ever did; sharp, even. His crisp navy suit was complemented by a white shirt and a thin black tie that Natasha had almost certainly done up for him, because Steve certainly hadn't done it and Bucky couldn't do them himself. His dark hair was slicked back, making it seem even darker than it already was, and giving it a certain shine in the dim light of the bar. A single strand hung loosely down beside his face, which bore the expression of deep confusion. After the initial shock of the burst of noise, an easy grin slid onto Bucky's face and he actually bowed, causing Natasha to snort and Clint to cover his face with shame.

"Thanks, but it's tomorrow, I'm still in my twenties," Bucky shouted back over the chattering voices, and there was a cocophany of laughter. Steve found himself grinning. Bucky caught sight of him across the room, winked, and then was dragged away by Barton and Tony to make the most of the open bar. Then the music started up, and suddenly everything was a lot louder.

"Hey," Sam said loudly from over the music as he leaned back against the booth and crossed his arms. "What time are those other guys meant to get here?"

Natasha clapped her hands together excitedly. "Ooh, yes, when? He'll be so excited, Stevie, he'll love you forever, I swear."

Oh, yeah, and on top of the party, Steve had arranged another surprise- with some help from Clint and Natasha, he'd been able to track down Bucky's old army pals and invite them along too. He grinned. "Um, in around an hour."

"Are they all coming?"

"All five. One of them even flew in from France."

Sam grinned. "Man, I gotta say, I'm excited. Couple 'a guys I know down at the VA talk about this lot all the time; say they were the best. Hardcore, kick-ass types, all six- that's including your boy, Rogers."

Steve raised an eyebrow, surprised. "You never told me that."

Natasha snorted. " _I_ could've told you that."

"Oh it's true; apparently one time, they-"

"Aww, is this the loser table?" Came Clint's teasing voice as he emerged from the crowd with an entire bottle of tequila clutched in his hand, "Guys, this is just sad, _where_ are your drinks?" He shoved Sam and Natasha down the booth so he could slide in beside them, sandwiching the redhead in the middle.

"You drank mine," Sam deadpanned, and Steve burst out laughing.

"Clint's aim is to make sure all of us are too hungover to teach tomorrow," Bucky laughed as he too came into sight behind where Clint had appeared from, holding a tumbler with some kind of whiskey in one hand. He made to sit down, elbowing Steve's shoulder, and Steve obliged, scooting down the bench to make room. Once Bucky had sat down he threw an arm over Steve's shoulders, raising an eyebrow at him, giving him a grin. "Word is, _you_ organized this whole thing. Gotta say, Stevie, I'm impressed," he teased, and Steve could barely hear him over the music, but he laughed anyway.

"You're welcome."

"I never said thanks!"

Steve grinned. "I know."

Bucky laughed, letting his head drop onto Steve's shoulder for a second before sitting upright, moving his arm and reaching across the table to grab Clint's tequila. "I don't want to turn thirty," he announced loudly as he poured a shitload into his whiskey and downed the impromptu cocktail like a shot.

Steve and Sam stared at him in shock, while Clint laughed and Natasha applauded sarcastically. 

"If you throw up, please do so _away_ from me."

Bucky coughed, clapping himself on the chest. "Christ." He pushed the empty glass into the middle of the table, ignoring Clint as he snatched his bottle back, and glancing around at the rest of the table. "Jeez, you guys really aren't drinking, huh?"

"Like you said," Sam sighed, "we gotta teach tomorrow."

Bucky pouted. "Aw come on, Wilson, it's my birthday."

"Tomorrow's your birthday," Natasha pointed out.

Bucky shrugged. "Same thing." He twisted around in his seat, craning his neck as he scanned the crowd. "Hey, Tony! _Tony!_ You still at the bar?Order these guys a drink, could ya?"

Steve couldn't _see_ Stark but he heard him yell the affirmative, and Bucky sat back down on the benchseat with a satisfied smile. "There, you're sorted."

"Gee, thanks."

Bucky lightly slapped Steve's arm. "Don't be so sarcastic. It's almost my birthday, you have to be nice."

Steve gave him a charming grin. "Sorry."

Natasha rested her head lightly on Clint's shoulder. "So James, Steve tells me you're visiting home tomorrow," she started conversationally, tapping her fingernail against the class of Barton's tequila bottle.

Bucky smiled brightly. "Yeah, I am. First time the whole family's been together in almost three months."

"That's sweet."

"It's a tradition," Bucky nodded, "birthdays and all that." He turned to Steve, chewing his lip. "I'd _love_ for you to come, but-"

"I get it," Steve interrupted with a smile. "Boyfriend; _bit_ of a surprise. Don't worry about it."

"I'd still love you to be there, I want you to know that."

"Awww," Natasha was laughing, "Steve, you're blushing!"

"I'm not!"

"I was thinking of telling them actually," Bucky said thoughtfully as a waiter arrived with a tray of drinks. "My family. I mean, some of them already know, but I want to tell my parents."

"About me?" Steve asked, confused.

The waiter placed four pints of beer down on the table; enough for everyone other than Clint, who was seemingly still occupied by the tequila.

"Yeah, I mean, why not, right? They should know." Bucky nodded absently at the table as he reached for his glass. "I'm gonna tell them."

Natasha whistled. "Well, you do whatever you wanna do whenever you wanna do it," she half agreed, raising her glass. "Happy fucking birthday."

"Happy fucking birthday," Clint echoed with a grin, lifting his bottle as well.

Sam and Steve followed suit, grinning, and Bucky rolled his eyes before snatching up his glass and knocking it against theirs.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, you assholes."

Within twenty minutes Bucky and Natasha had disappeared off to dance, Clint had been dragged away by Bruce and Thor who wanted to play darts, and Steve was almost finished his second beer, against his better judgement. But Sam kept drinking, and it was free, and it was a party, so who was Steve to say no?

"I'm gonna regret this tomorrow," Steve admitted to Sam as he raised his drink to his mouth. "It's only fucking Tuesday. Alright, okay, I'm only having two, this one's my last." He downed what remained and all but slammed the glass down on the table. "Right. Done."

Sam laughed, but Steve could barely hear it over the music. "Fuck it, Rogers, we won't be this young forever! Like okay, sure we got work tomorrow, but what are the kids gonna care if their teachers aren't totally with it? Hell, they'll love it. Look, even Coulson's drinking!"

"I'm pretty sure that's Pepsi."

"Oh, you're such a killjoy, dude. Where's your boyfriend, he'll knock some sense into you... Barnes, oi! C'mere and help me pull the stick outta Steve's ass!"

When Bucky returned it was arm in arm with Tony Stark, who was... Oh, great, who was holding a tray of shot glasses. Bucky seemed to have shed his suit jacket and his tie since the last time Steve had seen him, and the first two buttons of his white cotton shirt had managed to undo themselves. And if Stark was holding the glasses, you can guess what Bucky was holding.

"Who's got what up their ass?" He questioned teasingly with a raised eyebrow as he slid into the booth beside Steve, plopping the bottle of vodka in his hands down in front of him.

"Oh no."

Sam grinned. "Oh yes."

"No, no, absolutely not."

"Aw come on, Stevie," Bucky practically begged, turning on him with wide eyes and sticking his lower lip out in a pout. Steve would _never_ admit how sexy it looked on him. "It's my birthdaaay."

"It's not your birthday!"

"Tomorrow it is," Tony pointed out as he shoved Sam over and collapsed down next to him, setting the tray of glasses down on the table.

"Consider it my birthday present," Bucky conceded, absently skimming his thumb across his bottom lip.

"I've already _got_ you a present," Steve argued, "and getting drunk with you isn't worth having to teach teenagers with a hangover."

"Just one shot," Stark was trying to persuade Sam as he reached for the vodka and tipped some into a shot glass, shoving it towards Sam's face.

"Stark, no. I've had enough."

"Steve, please!"

"Bucky, _no."_

"Oh come oooon," Bucky moaned, draping one arm around Steve's shoulders and resting the other hand firmly on his abdomen, swivelling on the spot to face him. "I don't wanna be thirty Stevie, you know that, and if you just humoured me for tonight it might improve my horrible situation by a little bit."

"Don't try and guilt trip me!"

"I'm not! I'm _just_ saying."

Across the booth, Sam was vehemently shaking his head and trying to shove Tony Stark away from him as the billionaire wrestled to put him in a headlock. "Tony, get offa me! I want _Steve_ to get drunk; I actually have to counsel people in the morning!"

"Take the shot Wilson!"

" _No!_   I already had two!"

"Steve'll take a shot if you do," Bucky said immediately, pointing his finger over at Sam. "C'mon, guys, take pity on the old guy."

"Wait, are we talking me or you?"

" _Me_ , Stark; no one pities you."

"Oh, right."

"This is beginning to feel like deja vu."

"What?" A crease appeared in Bucky's forehead as he frowned up at Steve.

Steve raised his eyebrows. "At halloween when you forced me to drink so it would be more 'fair'?"

Bucky grinned cheekily. "Worked, didn't it?"

"We didn't talk for two weeks."

"Your fault."

Steve stared incredulously at him. "Was _not!"_

Bucky pouted, ignoring him. "Steve, seriously, what's one shot gonna do?"

"This is peer pressure, and I resent it."

"Just one."

"No."

"For me."

" _No."_

The hand that Bucky had placed on Steve's chest was suddenly seeming a lot more strategic rather than impromptu, as it began to slide slowly down his stomach and towards his belt. _"For me,"_ he repeated again in a low voice with a lot more emphasis, and Steve could feel his face going red. 

"Bucky-"

"Stark," Sam was practically yelling, "If you don't stop trying to _date rape_ me I'm calling Pepper-"

"Oh my _god,_ Wilson, take the drink!"

"I'll call Pepper!"

"Pepper won't _care-"_

_"PEPPER!"_

Tony covered Sam's mouth with his hand, hissing at him to be quiet with wide, alarmed eyes.

At this point Bucky's arm around Steve's shoulders fell, only to return moments later with a shot glass, which he proceeded to dangle in front of Steve's face. "Rogers," Bucky said seriously, and Steve felt his fingertips graze the skin just underneath the waistband of his jeans, "just drink it. Just one."

Steve groaned, bringing one hand up to rub at his face. "Bucky…"

"Just one, I swear." Bucky's fingers dipped slightly lower.

And, well, _one_  drink couldn't hurt, right?

"You're a horrible influence," Steve muttered as he snatched the glass out of Bucky's hand.

Bucky beamed at him, and Sam let out a loud laugh of victory.

"Aha!"

"That's the spirit," Tony said happily, tipping his own glass in Steve's general direction. "Good choice, buddy, good choice."

"I hate you all."

Bucky laughed, eyes twinkling as the dim light from the bar reflected back in them. "Nah, you don't."

Steve didn't break eye contact with him as he lifted the stupid thing to his lips and downed the shot in one. He didn't miss how Bucky's adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed, or the way he ran his tongue smoothly across his perfect and very much appealing lips, or how once Steve had slammed the glass back onto the table he pressed his teeth into his bottom lip in a filthy grin.

"That's my boy," Bucky smirked, and Steve's throat burned as the alcohol sank weightlessly into his stomach, and suddenly there were hands on his neck and Bucky was kissing him, hard and hot and dirty, and Steve kissed back in somewhat of a daze- that is, until there was a loud squeal from the other side of the booth and Bucky slunk back to his side of the bench, not looking at anyone in particular but grinning dumbly at the table.

Tony was staring at them like he'd just witnessed a giraffe walking into the bar. "Did they just make out? Wilson, _Wilson_ , did that just happen or have I had too much of Thor's weird homemade honey wine?"

"Honey wine… Isn't that like basically just mead?" Sam muttered almost to himself, a curious expression briefly crossing his face.

"Oh," Bucky said with a vaguely interested tone, as if it was almost an afterthought, "yeah, whoops, sorry Tony. Steve and me're actually sort of together."

"Steve and _I."_

"Whatever."

"Oh my god," Tony was saying, staring wide-eyed and accusingly at Steve. "You never told me that! You? And _him?"_

"What's wrong with _me?"_ Bucky demanded defensively, but Steve knew that tone of voice well enough to tell that he wasn't really offended.

"Nothing! Just like, _wow_ , I did not see that one coming."

"Then you need glasses," Sam deadpanned, and Bucky snorted so loudly that Steve gave a little jolt of surprise beside him.

Tony shrugged, waving an arm about vaguely. "I dunno, I always figured Steve's type was more… _Pure_ , if you get my drift."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to argue back, but Steve beat him to it.

"You didn't know me in college, Stark."

Bucky's sceptical gaze turned on him instead. "Oh come on, Stevie, I know for a _fact_ that you didn't get around in college. You tol' me so yourself."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Okay, so I never got around, but that doesn't mean I was 'pure' or whatever the fuck Tony said."

Sam snorted.

Bucky threw his head back with laughter, and then the hand that had been resting pretty much on his crotch up until that point absently trailed down to his knee. It was almost endearing. "Alright then, tough guy, what _did_ you get up to in college?"

"I was arrested once," Steve grinned, and Tony let out a loud cough.

"Uh, bullshit?"

"No, it's true! Got into a fight with some guy who was being creepy to this girl in a bar."

Bucky was beaming at him. "Really?"

Steve raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Why do you look so pleased about that? I was literally arrested, Bucky, I have a record."

"Because it's hilarious, and I've _never_ been arrested. Not in America, anyway, and not by the actual police."

There was a question that Steve definitely wanted the answer to, but now didn't exactly seem like the appropriate time to ask. Instead Steve laughed, lightly jabbing his shoulder. "Well aren't you just a fucking golden boy."

A deep, unrecognisable voice drifted casually over to them from beside the booth. " _Barnes_ , a golden boy? This is the same guy who _literally_ put soap in my cereal one time."

Steve watched with a wide smile as Bucky whirled around, his jaw dropping open in shock, and when he saw who had spoken to him he practically jumped out of his seat. "No fucking way," he half laughed, half yelled as he dragged the grinning man with the impressive moustache into a tight hug. "Dugan! What the fuck are _you_ doing here?!"

"What, don't I get a hug?"

" _Jones!"_

"Excuse me, I took a _plane_ for you," said a man to moustache-guy's left in a thick French accent. When Steve noticed that he, too, had a moustache, he decided to come up with a different reference point for the first man. 

"Dernier! Oh my god," Bucky was laughing as he covered his mouth with one hand. "You guys all came? Seriously?"

"Well," came a slightly sarcastic yet amused British accent as a different guy (also with a moustache- was this a trend that Steve had missed out on?) popped into view, "god forbid we miss the chance to take the piss out you for getting old."

"I can't believe you all came!"

"Of course we came," laughed someone who seemed familiar to Steve- Jim, his name was, and they'd actually met before- and then Bucky was laughing as he attempted to pull all five men into a hug at once.

"Guuuys! That's so nice!"

"It's too hot in here for hugging."

"You can be such a girl, Winter, jesus."

 _"Don't ruin this for me!_ How did you even know to come?"

"Your boy here invited us," the loud guy with the biggest moustache grinned, and he stepped around Bucky to hold his hand out to Steve. "Timothy Dugan, good to meetcha. Thanks for the heads up about the party."

Steve grinned back as he got to his feet, taking Timothy's hand and giving it a firm shake. "Steve Rogers, it's my pleasure."

"Good night so far?"

Bucky and the other four newcomers had drifted off slightly to the side, and from where Steve was standing he couldn't actually see Bucky's face, but he could hear his laugh from a mile away. Steve smiled. "Yeah, so far."

"That there's Jacques, Monty, Jim and Gabriel," Dugan explained, pointing to each man one by one as he said their names. Not that they were even paying the slightest bit of attention; they all seemed to be too busy catching up.

"I'm glad you all could make it," Steve said earnestly, folding his arms as he leaned back against the side of the booth. "I think he was kind of dreading his birthday."

"Oh, yeah, he probably was. One time we were playing truth or dare and he admitted he'd rather shoot all of us in the face than turn thirty."

Steve blinked. "What, really?"

Dugan snorted. "Hah. No. But I wouldn't be surprised." He headed over to where the rest of the men were stood.

Steve stood for a moment in confused silence before catching sight of Coulson and deciding to go over there instead. At least Coulson had an easy-to-understand sense of humour.

 

*

 

"So you guys've known each other since he was, what, eighteen?" Steve started conversationally, glancing up at Jim.

"Yeah; feels like longer though. It's kind of like we grew up together, you know?"

Steve had decided after about half an hour of Bucky's old commando friends arriving at the bar that he wanted to talk to them. They all seemed like really interesting people, and Steve was honestly dying to know more about Bucky's time in the army. So the first chance he got he'd stood up and headed over to the booth where one of the men was sitting alone, smiling absently into his whiskey, watching as Timothy Dugan and the French guy attempted to chat up Peggy. The guy he was talking to, as it would turn out, was Jim Morita, and he'd actually met Steve once before- on that weird Sunday afternoon after Darcy's birthday party. 

So far, he'd proven to be a very nice guy.

"Can I ask… I mean, Buck doesn't talk very much about his time with the army. Like, I know how he met Natasha, but other than that… He just doesn't talk about it. And I don't want to pry, but… I dunno, I guess I just wish I knew more about him."

Jim raised his eyebrows but didn't look at Steve, seemingly absorbed in stirring his drink with his straw. "To be honest most of it's classified, so I can't really tell you any of the interesting shit." 

Steve cleared his throat. "So what _can_ you tell me?"

Jim nodded slowly, giving a little shrug. "We were members of a unit called the Howling Commandos, I'm sure you know that already. There were six of us. We worked together for… Gosh, almost five years- and in deployment time it might as well be a decade. And we were never really even army; we were pretty much a totally separate force. Specially trained and everything."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "All at the same thing?"

"Nah, we had different specialties. That's why they put us together."

"What was yours?"

Jim smiled. "Medic. My job was pretty much to save their asses. Barnes was a sniper, Monty was tactics, Dernier was demolitions- that guy had a serious thing for explosions- Jones was a communications expert, and Dum Dum was the transport specialist."

"Dum Dum?"

"It's a nickname; 'Timothy' was boring."

"Oh. So who was the leader?"

Jim shrugged. "We should've had one, really, but we didn't. Operations command was a job that ended up being split between the six of us, you know? I guess they figured seven was an awkward number. And anyway, we got by."

They sat in silence for a few more seconds. Steve still wasn't satisfied; he was filled by a burning curiosity to know, to _understand_ what that part of Bucky's life had actually been. "Tasha said once that she met Bucky in Ukraine," he said somewhat uselessly.

Jim nodded. "She was working undercover. Separate case from ours. We went underground, got caught, stuck in a somewhat tricky situation; Nat was able to negotiate our release. She was an amazing agent, especially for a kid. Barnes took a real shine to her."

Steve felt a small pang of jealousy bubble up into his chest, as hard as he tried to fight it down. "Did he now?"

Jim shrugged. "No need to be like that, Steve, it was never anything. He loved her like a sister- he still does. Hell, we all did."

"Can I ask what you guys went undercover to do?"

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Not unless you're alright with me killing you afterwards."

Steve sighed. "Fair enough." He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "Did you get it done, though? Whatever you were sent to do?"

Jim shrugged. "Barnes and Nat, _they_ got it done. They were good. Probably two of the best this country's ever seen."

"From what I've heard, you all were," Steve sighed, giving the man in front of him an impressed look as he crossed his arms. "My buddy works down at the VA sometimes and he's got some guys there that rave about your unit."

Jim gave him a toothy grin. "We did what we could."

"Seems like pretty heavy stuff."

Jim laughed, shrugging. "Well, you know. Orders. Didn't have a choice."

Steve half smiled, rubbing at the back of his neck. "So… What made you guys leave the forces? Bucky doesn't talk about that either."

"Our unit was disbanded. Honourable discharge, you know? Again, we didn't have a choice."

"What happened?"

Jim nodded his head from side to side, as if he was debating what exactly to tell Steve. "It's… Complicated. And classified.  But long story short, we saw some shit we shouldn't have seen. _Bad_ shit, like, bad enough to make us a threat if we were to tell anyone. Security risk." He raised his arms and let them drop to his sides in a helpless motion. "Not much we could do after that. No promotions, no medals, nothing." When he smiled, it was somewhat bitterly. "Hell, we didn't even get so much as a thank you."

"That's… Rough."

"We handled it. They _did_ give us cover jobs, though; so we could blend back into society. None of us had any degrees or college education or anything like that, we joined the force straight out of school, so we were unbelievably unequipped to actually get a real job. So they gave us six months of training in various careers and a certificate at the end of it all."

"So that's why Bucky and Nat are teachers?"

"Yup."

"What do _you_ do?"

"Retail." He shrugged. "Pays the bills."

"That's not bad," Steve conceded.

"Nah, it aint bad."

"And… You guys managed to recover from it all?" Steve frowned slightly, looking curiously up at Jim. "I mean, as far as PTSD goes, Bucky's pretty fine and none of you guys seem to have any obvious issues…"

Jim nodded slowly, not looking at Steve but watching as one of Bucky's other friends- the French one- attempted to give Peggy a piggyback ride around the bar. "It was tough at first," he said finally, glancing sideways at Steve. "Real tough. But it's been a while, now, and we were always… I mean, we were conditioned to adapt from a pretty young age. So I guess that's just what we did... And we were lucky, we never lost anyone. I think if we had, things would be a lot different now."

"None of your families know what you did either?"

"We weren't allowed to tell people what we were doing for security reasons, especially while we were actually doing it, and just it seemed pointless to talk about it after. It's all in the past, you know? We were different people then. Doesn't matter anymore."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "So why can't you tell me?"

Jim shrugged. "'You and Winter are close, you seem like a good guy, and the way I see it it's better you don't know. Some things are just meant to be kept personal. Who knows; maybe he'll tell you himself when he's ready."

Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek, nodding slowly. "Okay."

Jim lifted his drink absently off the table, swirled it around once, and set it back down again without taking a sip. "Look, Steve, what you've gotta understand is that Barnes needs someone."

Steve frowned. "What do you mean?"

Jim shrugged. "He copes, you know? And by all normal standards, he's totally okay. We're all okay. But sometimes you relapse, and that can get scary, and he needs someone to be on his side."

"Relapse," Steve echoed, not quite understanding, but it appeared Jim had it covered.

"It wouldn't be anything huge, I don't think. I get nightmares sometimes, and I'm pretty sure that Dugan still literally sleeps with one eye open. I think Barnes' thing used to be small spaces. It's just little stuff, you know? And I'm sure he handles it. But just, if there's ever a time where he can't, then he needs someone to be there for him. You seem like you could probably be that person."

Steve was silent, staring into his drink, because if anything this definitely explained the vast number of weapons that Bucky kept concealed in his apartment, and his seemingly irrational fear of elevators. "You know," he began with a slight hint of irritation in his voice, "It would probably be easier to be that person if I actually knew what he went through."

Jim raised an eyebrow at him. "Some secrets have to be heard from the person they belong to, Rogers. That's just how it is."

"Do you know why he's scared of small spaces?"

Jim gave him that look again. "Trust me Steve; if you went through _half_ of what he did, you'd be scared of tight spaces too."

"Hey guys," Bucky said breathlessly as he bounded into view through the crowd of people, Natasha on his arm, hair wild and unruly. "What're we talkin' about?"

And although he hadn't gotten everything he'd wanted out of that conversation with Jim, the dissatisfaction wasn't enough to stop Steve from being a little bit in love with the way Bucky's Brooklyn accent emerged with a vengeance when he was drunk.

" _You_ , actually," Jim smirked over at his old friend. "And you, Natalia."

"Oh no."

Steve laughed, ignoring Bucky's mock-narrowing eyes. "It's true. Jim here was telling me all about your little escapades."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Not all of them, I seriously hope."

Jim just winked at him.

Natasha laughed.

Steve watched on in confusion. "What'd I miss?"

Bucky grinned, clapping him on the back and almost missing. "Nothing, моя любовь, nothing." _(Tr: my love)_

"Awwwww," Natasha teased with bright eyes, "Jaaames, that's sweeeeet…"

Bucky punched her in the arm.

Steve raised an eyebrow. "What did he just say to me?"

"He called you-"

"Tash!" Clint came bounding into view, one arm wrapped around Sam's shoulders, which was apparently for the best as Sam looked like he could barely stand. "Come with us for a second, we found a karaoke machine!"

Natasha rolled her eyes.

Bucky let go of her arm and engulfed Jim in a tight hug, swaying slightly on the spot. "I'm so glad you're here, мой друг." _(Tr: my friend)_

"You speak a lot more Russian when you're drunk," Jim pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him.

Steve couldn't help but grin at the confused look that crossed Bucky's face.

"Что вы говорите , я не говорю по-русски?" _(What are you talking about, I'm not speaking Russian?)_

"Yes you are," Natasha smirked, shaking her head in amusement. "Alrighty, wonderboy, I think it's probably time we took you home."

"No, absolutely not, I'm fine. See? Totally fine. Let go of me Natalia. Let- let go. Nat?"

"Say g'night to your boyfriend!"

"Natalia, I swear to god-"

"Night Bucky," Steve teased, waving his fingers at him. "Sleep tight!"

"Oh my god, no, let go of me right now, I'm not going _anywhere_ -"

"We're sticking around until the weekend Winter, I'll text you about catching up on Saturday," Jim was grinning as he folded his arms. "Enjoy ageing."

Natasha began dragging Bucky away towards the door, who was trying very hard to escape her vice-like grip without much luck. Ex-assassin or not, there was literally no way out of Natasha's death hold on his arm- that woman was _really_ something else, and it was actually a little terrifying.

"Stevie, come on!" Bucky yelled, squirming around to try and pull his wrist out of Natasha's hand. "Help!"

"Get some sleep!" Steve called back, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. "You've got a test tomorrow!"

 _"I'm not even taking the test!"_ Came the response, but by this point Bucky and Natasha were already out of sight.

Jim whistled. "Damn. That girl's still got no mercy."

"I think she's actually gotten worse," Clint murmured thoughtfully.

"I don't know about you guys," Sam interrupted, raising his eyebrows, "but I could really use another drink."

"Birthday boy's already gone home, shouldn't we start to clear out?"

Sam shot Steve a look. "It's an open bar for another half hour, Steve, and you wanna just leave? Are you freaking kidding me?"

And, well, who was he to argue with that?

  

*

 

Bucky had actually been looking forward to spending his birthday dinner with his family, despite being more than a little hungover and kind of disappointed that he wasn't able to wrangle some pretty awesome birthday sex out of Steve. But he pushed all that aside because really his family weren't so bad, he'd grown kind of used to them, and he was excited to have everyone back together again. That is, until the front door of his parents' house was opened and he was greeted by a piercing scream and being smacked hard across the chest with a damp dishcloth.

"HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY JAMES!"

" _Agh! Anna!"_

"I can't believe you're thirty!" His dark-haired sister practically squealed with delight, tottering through the doorway in her tall heels and wrapping her arms so tightly around him that suffocation was beginning to feel like a very real and frightening possibility. "I mean, I just kind of figured you'd be one of those Peter Pan kids, you know?"

"Lost boys."

"That's the ones!"

Bucky rolled his eyes, managing to extract himself from his sister's arms. "Everyone else is inside?"

"Of course!" Anna let him through the door first before following, kicking it closed behind her and reaching to take his coat. "Except for Henry, he's out picking up his belle."

"Oh, he's bringing his new girlfriend?"

Anna looked instantly worried. "Oh god, do you mind? We all thought it would be okay. We wanted to meet her, and you never really cared before about who comes to these, and-"

Bucky's eyes widened. "No, of course not! I don't mind, honestly, I was just surprised- I didn't think it was that serious."

Anna beamed. "Pretty serious, big bro, it's pretty serious. From what Dad's told me he's practically a changed boy."

"This girl's good for him?"

"Really good for him." Anna leaned in close to speak in a hushed tone into his ear, "She goes to private school."

Bucky made a face like he was impressed, before he broke out in a grin. "Good for him. About time he broke his streak of dating future criminals and prostitutes."

"Hey now, that's not fair." Anna lightly punched him in the arm, smirking. "You still with that guy?"

Bucky gave her a look. "Maybe."

" _Yes_ maybe?"

"…Maybe."

Anna grinned widely. "That's almost three months!" she squealed, " _Jamie!"_

"What?!"

"It's serious! It's a proper relationship for the first time since, like, high school! I'm so proud of you!"

Bucky snorted, pressing his hand over her mouth. "Alright _mom,_ keep it down."

Anna's eyes narrowed, and Bucky felt something wet and warm touch the palm of his hand.

" _Ew_ ," he complained loudly, pulling his hand away, "you fucking _licked_ me, you infant!"

"What, now you're thirty you're gonna start behaving like an adult?" Anna shot back, smacking him again with the dishcloth. "Shut up. Have you still not told them?"

Bucky narrowed his eyes at her, but he was only half serious. "No, of course I haven't." He glanced around to check no one was too close by before adding in a lowered voice, "I was actually planning on telling them today."

Anna whistled. "Woah," she conceded, "Big day."

"I know."

"Any idea how you're gonna do it?"

Bucky shrugged. "I was just gonna… I dunno, wing it I guess. I was half tempted to just bring Steve along, but-"

"But if Ma reacts badly you don't wanna put him in the shit, I get it." Anna nodded.

Bucky grimaced. "Pretty much. Anyways, kiddo, I better go say hi. Wouldn't want to upset the dragon before my big reveal."

"Fuck _your_ issues; Ma's been on my ass all afternoon. Anya this, Anya that. She hasn't even called me that since I was seven years old, it's like she's finally lost it."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "You _know_ birthdays make her nostalgic."

Anna rolled her eyes. "Whatever, butthead, lucky you; you get the day off so make the most of it." 

Bucky grinned. "Oh I fully intend to." He made his way through the hall and into the kitchen, where the powerfully overwhelming smell of roast chicken had been emanating throughout his entire conversation with Anna. He spotted his mother with her back to the door, apron tied around her waist as per usual, bent over the stove. He grinned, leaning against the doorframe and folding his arms. "Это фартук делает ваш торец выглядеть большим." _(That apron makes your butt look big.)_

He was almost convinced that if it wasn't his birthday, his mother might actually have killed him. Fortunately however it _was_ his birthday, and instead of being sworn at and thrown out of the room he was tackled in a tight hug by a huge laughing Russian woman.

"James, любовь моя, happy birthday! Did you get many presents from your friends? Oh, I am so glad you could make it, tonight is going to be amazing dinner- I cook chicken and roast potatoes and your brother has got cake for dessert, one of the huge ones from the bakery he gets the cakes for weddings from."

"I'll be sure to thank him," Bucky assured her, giving his mother a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for doing this, Ma."

"Oh please, my boy, no need to thank me!" Katya Barnes bustled past him towards the refrigerator. "It's a mother's job to take care of her babies. Besides, it's tradition!"

"Nonetheless, I appreciate it."  

"Awww, there's the birthday boooy!" Came Jessica's permanently patronising voice from the doorway as she sashayed into the room, arms outstretched. "Do I get a hug?"

Bucky rolled his eyes but was unable to hold back his grin. "Hey Jessie," he greeted, leaning forwards to kiss her once on each cheek. "How was the drive here?"

His sister shrugged. "Not too awful. Andy wishes he could be here, by the way, but he had to work tonight."

"Nah it's cool, tell him I say hi though."

Jessica smiled warmly at him, putting an arm around his waist. "Come on, the others are in the dining room. And so are the presents."

"That's definitely got my attention," Bucky teased, and Katya whipped around to glare at him.

"James my boy, celebrating birthdays are not about presents, they are about giving thanks back to god for your birth."

"And presents," Bucky and Jessica said at the same time.

Their mother glared at them. "Go and say привет to your father now before he gets too drunk."

Bucky shrugged. "Seems fair." He let Jessica lead him into the next room.

 

*

 

It wasn't long before the magic wore off, and Bucky remembered why he kind of hated having such a huge family. 

"So Jimmy," Sebastian grinned with a mouthful of potato chips, flicking a tiny balled-up piece of paper in Bucky's general direction, "any girls?"

Bucky glared at him. "Any kids?"

Sebastian held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Point taken."

"What time's Henry supposed to be getting back?" Sascha moaned for the three hundredth time. "The kid's got my fucking car."

"Drug money paid for that car," Jessie snapped, "I think you can manage without it.

"Actually I'm pretty sure _I_ paid for that car," Bucky pointed out with a raised eyebrow. 

Sascha crinkled his nose, giving his sister an apologetic look. "It's true, he paid for the car."

Jessica scoffed, shaking her head in disgust.

"Must you always fight like this whenever we're together?" Their mother complained from the head of the table, where she was gradually eating her way through an entire box of breadsticks. "George, tell them not to fight."

"Kids, listen to your mother."

"Kids?" Anna frowned, crossing her arms and glaring at the tired-looking man sat across from her. "Excuse me dad, we're not _kids_ anymore."

"Hell," Bucky groaned, letting his face drop into his hands. "I'm actually in hell."

Jessica smacked his arm. "That's not funny, James, stop it."

"You're not the boss of me!"

"Oh come on, you're thirty now. Isn't it about time you grew the hell up?"

"Jessica," their mother snapped, "behave yourself. You have to set a good example, remember you're the eldest now."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Sebastian shook his head, covering his face in his hands and letting out a deep sigh. Anna stared uncomfortable at the wall. Sascha eyed his mother with a frown, and Bucky found himself doing the same. Jessica had just turned a very unique shade of purple.

"Katya," their father broached tentatively, eyeing his wife over the lip of his bottle. "I think that was a little uncalled for."

She sighed, rubbing at her temples with the tips of her fingers. "Yes," she agreed, "извините. I'm sorry." _(Tr: excuse me)_

Sascha groaned, leaning back in his chair and balancing the thing on just two legs. "Jesus christ, _where_ is Henry…"

"I'm gonna go get the chicken out of the oven," Anna declared, getting quickly to her feet.

"Let me help," Bucky and Jessica both said at the same time, and Jessica scowled as Bucky jumped out of his seat and practically sprinted to the door, blocking her path.

"Don't worry, I got it," he reassured her, shooting her an evil grin before following his younger sister out of the room.

Their mother's voice followed them out; " _Don't forget the potatoes!"_

Bucky couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief as he entered the kitchen and elbowed the creaky door shut behind him, giving Anna a look. He loved his family, he did, but damn. _Damn_. "So that went well."

Anna raised an eyebrow, snatching the patchwork oven gloves off of the kitchen counter. "First time everyone's been together at the same time, there's bound to be some kinks."

"Not everyone's here yet," Bucky pointed out.

Anna scowled at him. "Alrighty then, Mr. I'm a Teacher and Therefore a Smartass." 

Bucky heard the sound of the front door opening, and voices and footsteps heading down the hall and into the dining room. He flicked up an eyebrow. "I guess that'll be Henry and company."

Anna pulled open the oven door. "Could you give me a hand with the potatoes?"

"Sure thing, kiddo."

With Anna carrying the chicken-bearing tray and Bucky with the potatoes and carrots the pair made their way back into the other room, where the conversation seemed to have started up again- and thankfully it sounded slightly less aggressive this time around.

Anna entered first, grinning into the splattered applause that started up when she placed the chicken on the table. "Wow, thanks guys, I feel so appreciated."

"I don't," Bucky declared as he unceremoniously dumped the potatoes onto the table too. "And it's my fu-" He caught his mother's eye, and she glowered at him, "-reakin' birthday," he finished with a wince, expression crossed somewhere between afraid and apologetic. "Whoops. Sorry Ma."

"There's no swearing under my roof, James, you know the rules."

"I said sorry!"

"Not good enough."

Bucky rolled his eyes as his mother sat down, glancing around the room for his youngest brother. When he saw him, standing in between Sebastian and a girl he assumed was his girlfriend (he couldn't tell if she was pretty from behind), he grinned. "Hey pal," he called, causing Henry to turn around and beam at him. "Where's my birthday hug?"

"I didn't get a birthday hug," Sascha complained as Henry practically vaulted over a chair and pulled Bucky into a tight hug.

"Happy birthday."

"I'm officially thirty," Bucky announced, "and I'm totally miserable about it."

"Aw c'mon, it was always gonna happen," Henry pointed out.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me you never believe for one minute in the whole Peter Pan no ageing thing?"

"Nah. Haven't you ever read the originals? He was really just some fucker who murdered kids. The Lost Boys are the ghosts of dead kids. There, now I'm the asshole who crushed your childhood dreams."

"Aw come on, that's bullshit."

Their mother made a disgruntled noise. "George, tell the boys to stop the swearing!"

"Boys, stop swearing."

Henry rolled his eyes. "Sorry Dad."

Bucky snorted, shaking his head in amusement. "Anyway, aren't you gonna introduce me to your girlfriend?" He prompted, giving his brother a look. "I've been told she's a good one. Private school kid, huh?"

Henry's cheeks flushed, but the kid would be damned if he showed even the slightest weakness. "She is," he agreed with a nod, "c'mere." Bucky followed Henry around the table to where the dark-haired girl was talking politely with Jessica, facing away from Bucky and Henry.

"Mel," Henry interrupted, putting a hand on her shoulder, "this is my brother James, an' it's his actual birthday. Jamie, this is Mel."

When the girl actually turned around and Bucky got a look at her face, he could've died on the spot.

Really.

He could've died.

"Oh my god," was all he managed to say, cringing as he raised one of his hands to cover his face. "Melissa. You're Mel. Melissa is Mel." 

Melissa, the girl from his third period history class, was staring at him with a pretty similar expression. "Mr Barnes," she squeaked out, face turning bright red, and the helpless look she gave Henry would've been endearing if he wasn't Bucky's brother. "Uhh…"

"Wait, do you teach her?" Jessica's mouth was curling into a wide, obnoxious grin, and soon enough she was letting out a hoot of laughter. "Oh my god, you teach her!"

Henry turned to frown at Bucky, "Wait, you do?"

Bucky glared across the table at his other sister. " _Anna!"_ He hissed, "you never said she went to _Hazelbrook!"_

Anna was giving him the same shit-eating grin that Jessica was. "Oh, like _that_ ever comes up in conversation."

"This is super awkward," Henry announced with a resigned expression, brushing a hand through his hair. "Mel, you didn't say _anything_ about having my freak-ass big brother as a teacher."

"You said his name was James! All the other teachers at school call him _Bucky!"_

"Oh my boy, you don't still go by _that_ stupid nickname, do you?" Katya Barnes was saying reproachfully from her seat at the head of the table. "I always hated that name, James, it's a _child's_ name. James is the name we gave you and I don't understand why you can't use it."

"I _hate_ James," Bucky muttered, "You know I frickin' hate it. My name is _Bucky_."

"Not at _my_ house it isn't."

Melissa had said nothing else, and was standing beside Henry with both hands clutching at her purse, staring at Bucky like she'd seen a ghost. "Um, if this is really weird, Mr Barnes, I can just go-"

"No," said Bucky and Henry at the same time, and then they turned to stare at each other in confusion.

"It's fine," Henry added, glancing back at his girlfriend, who was also Bucky's student, and god this was _so fucking weird_. "You can stay, it's cool if you stay. And you don't have to call him Mr Barnes either."

Bucky fought the urge to aim a piercing glare at his younger brother as he turned to give Melissa a tight-lipped smile. "He's right. We're not at school, and you're welcome to stay- any… _friend,_ of Henry's." He held out his right hand. "Call me _James_."

After a few uncomfortable seconds, Melissa took his hand and shook it. "Mel."

"Alright," Sebastian said loudly, clapping his hands together. "Now _that_ awkward exchange is over, _please_ can we eat something, I'm actually going to starve."

Everyone seemed to collectively roll their eyes at this, but as a strategy it clearly worked because within minutes everyone was seated around the dining table in their respective chairs- save one at the far end, which had remained empty for the better part of four years.

"So James," their mother addressed Bucky loudly from the opposite end of the table, forking a huge piece of chicken into her mouth and speaking around it. "How has your birthday been?"

"Pretty good actually," Bucky nodded, grinning through his mouthful of food. "Some people from work threw a party."

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

"Unbelievable," Henry muttered with a roll of his eyes.

Bucky elbowed him under the table before continuing, "They rented out a whole bar. Even invited the guys in my old unit. It was really cool."

Anna smiled sweetly across the table at him, pausing in the middle of cutting her potatoes. "That sounds great, Jamie."

"And how's work?" George Barnes prompted, lifting his glass of whiskey off the table and raising it to his lips. "I suppose it isn't as exciting as it used to be."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "You could say that. I'm not in such a high risk of being stabbed, if that's what you're getting at. The kids at Hazelbrook tend to be a bit less hardcore."

Sebastian turned to raise an eyebrow at Melissa, grinning. "That true?"

Melissa shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I guess. I've never been to East Brooklyn High so I can't really compare them."

"It's a hellhole," Henry supplied, "Don't ever go there."

"I was expelled from there," Sascha mused.

Their mother glared at him. "Don't act like this is something you are proud of, идиот мальчик. You are the only one to have ever gotten into trouble with the law."

"Not entirely true," Bucky pointed out, "There was that one skinny dipping incident with Jess-"

"We don't talk about that," Jessica interrupted loudly, much to the amusement of her siblings.

"If it was _me_ we would talk about it," Anna muttered.

Sebastian grinned down the table at her. "That's because you never gave us anything to talk about, _Anal_."

There was a collective groan from almost everyone at the table.

"Jesus Christ, Seb, don't _call_ me that!"

"Dude, c'mon, you're almost thirty two."

"Really?"

"Why would you even bring that up at the _table_ -"

"What are they talking about?" Bucky heard a confused Melissa question to Henry.

He watched as Henry shook his head with a hopeless sigh. "Trust me. You don't want to know."

"So Melis- Mel, sorry; how did you meet Henry?" Bucky interrupted, flicking an eyebrow curiously up at her over his raised fork. "Can't imagine there's a whole bunch of overlap in your social lives- no offence, Henry."

His brother raised his hands. "None taken. And we met at a club, actually."

Melissa had gone red.

Jessica was staring at the youngest Barnes sibling with a laser focus. "You're underage, Henry!"

"Oh come on, like _you_ never went to a club when you were fifteen!"

Sascha snorted. "I must've been about twelve."

Their mother let out a horrified gasp.

"Only because I snuck you in," Sebastian argued over him, "and for the record, Ma, that was _one_ time."

"Two times," Anna corrected.

She received an elbow to the gut.

Melissa was once again regarding the scene with a faintly confused expression. "Is it always like this when you guys are together?"

Sascha winked at her. "Mostly." He yelped as Henry kicked him under the table.

"Sash, don't be such a perv!"

"Boys," their mother snapped, "Behave yourselves."

"So," Sebastian interrupted, leaning both elbows on the table and leaning towards Bucky with a predatory grin. "I know _I've_ already asked this question, but I'm sure Ma will want to know- having any luck with the ladies yet, Jimmy?"

"Anna _did_ mention that you were seeing someone," Katya nodded, giving Bucky an expectant look. "You'd better not be lying to me again, James. I'm still angry from the last time."

Bucky shot Anna a piercing glare, and she waved her hands helplessly.

" _What was I supposed to do?!"_  She mouthed irritably across the table at him.

Bucky just narrowed his eyes.

Henry was staring at Bucky with a slight grimace, shaking his head slowly. The pair made eye contact. Henry gave him a very pointed look.

_He doesn't want me to tell them._

_But I have to._

_I have to tell them._

"I, huh…" Bucky set his knife and fork down on the table, clasping his hands together and resting his chin on them. "I actually _am_ seeing someone, yeah." 

Their mother let out a loud squeal, literally clapping her hands together, and Henry's forehead hit the table with a loud thud.

Anna actually looked a little green.

His other siblings just looked surprised.

"This is _great_ _news_ , my boy!" Katya beamed, jabbing in his general direction with her fork. "What is her name? When can I meet her?"

Bucky was beginning to feel a bit sick. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he suddenly realised that he didn't want to do this, he couldn't do it, there was too much pressure- and oh shit, there was one of his students in the room, and if this went badly-

No. He had to do it. What did he have to lose?

He took a deep breath before raising his eyes to lock them somewhat defiantly onto his mother's. " _His_ name is Steve."

Melissa made a small squeaking sound of surprise, but after that there was nothing.

Silence.

Complete silence.

You could've heard a pin drop onto the carpeted floor.

Henry's head was clasped in his hands, and Anna was clearly trying to give Bucky what was supposed to be an encouraging smile, but it came across as more of a grimace. Jessica's eyebrows had jumped up into her hairline for a brief moment, but now she was just studying Bucky's face, probably trying to work out if he was joking or not.

Bucky was almost too scared to look back at his mother and father. And when he did, he remembered why.

His father's face was stony and grave, and he looked almost like he was disappointed, _ashamed_ for want of a better word, but it was the distance and the coldness in his eyes that sent chills running down Bucky's spine. He'd never been looked at like that before in his life, not once. It made him feel sick.

His mother was even worse. Her entire face had turned red, and her eyes looked like they were about to bug out of their sockets. Her grip on the fork had become so tight that her knuckles had actually turned white, and when she spoke again it was with the air of someone trying their very hardest not to explode.

"If this was a joke, James, it was not very funny," she said tersely, and Bucky could actually  _feel_ the tension rising in the air, and he was beginning to regret even bringing it up, because _god_ how stupid had he been to think that this would've turned out okay?!

He had his chance to back out. He could pretend it was a joke, and she'd be a little pissed off for a bit, but in the end it would be fine. But deep in his heart he knew he couldn't do that.

"It's… Not a joke. I, uh… I actually do have a boyfriend."

"Oh shit," Bucky heard Sebastian mutter, and before he knew it his mother had practically jumped to her feet, the wooden legs of the chair scraping loudly against the floor as it was forced backwards.

"What is _wrong_ with you?!" The red-faced woman shrieked, balling her hands into fists as she stood glaring at Bucky, almost two feet shorter than him but definitely twice as intimidating. "Do you have any idea how _disgusting_ this is? You'll go to _hell!"_

" _Ma,_ " Jessica shouted over her, tossing her napkin to the floor and getting to her feet as well, "Calm down, it's not that big of a-"

"How _dare_ you, James!" Katya Barnes roared, jabbing a finger at her son, "How _dare_ you bring this kind of- of _shame_ \- _humiliation_ \- _to our family!_ How _dare_ you! You _disgusting_ \- you, you _disgrace-_ You stop this fooling around _right now_ , James, or Клянусь богом this family is _through_ with you."

He could hear the blood roaring in his ears, feel his heartbeat in his fingertips, his heavy breathing in his chest. A part of him had known that she would act like this, but by god was he mad. He was really. Fucking. _Mad_.

"I _knew_ you'd do this," Bucky couldn't help but yell back, shoving his chair out from under the table so he could stand up as well. "I fucking knew you'd flip out at me, and over _what?_ My _boyfriend?_ Because I'm _gay?!_ I'm your fucking kid, why does it even matter to you who I'm sleeping with?!"

There were hands on his shoulders then, and Sascha's low voice was in his ear; "Jamie man, c'mon, it ain't worth it-"

" _It is!"_ Bucky shouted, heart practically thumping out of his chest with both adrenaline and shame. "This is my _life-"_

He felt a sharp stinging sensation in his cheek, and he raised his hand to his face as his eyes widened with shock. He turned to stare at his mother, jaw hanging open, cheek burning.

Everyone else around the table had gone silent.

Their mother had never raised a hand to any of them, not even as children. Not once.

"Did… Did you just fucking _slap_ me?"

" _Позор_ ," she hissed. _(Tr: disgrace)_

 _"Jesus!_ " Sebastian shouted, " _Ma, calm_ the _fuck down!"_

"Your _perversion_ has _damned_ us all!"

Noise erupted again from around the table, and within seconds almost everyone was standing up, save Melissa who was sitting frozen in her chair.

Anna was desperately trying to reason with their mother, but the middle-aged Russian was taking almost no notice of her.

George Barnes stood up a little after everyone else, glass of whiskey still grasped in his hands, but instead of bearing the same disgusted expression as his wife he wore instead one of weariness and disappointment.

"James," he said in a tired, almost _bored_ voice, "Get out of my house."

Bucky wasn't entirely sure what he was planning on doing when he clenched his fists together and took a step towards his father, seething with rage, but when the opportunity presented itself the only thing he could think to do was the lash out and knock the glass from his father's hands onto the floor.

It hit the wooden boards with a loud crack, and glass shattered across the floor. He heard someone let out a shout of surprise at the noise. Bucky watched in what felt like slow motion as some of the whiskey splashed onto his father's boot, but before he had time to do anything else there was a fist colliding with his jaw with the force of a fucking train and he stumbled backwards, losing his footing, and he would've hit the floor if Sebastian hadn't been stood behind him to hold him upright.

From that moment on, everything else was a blur. He watched dazedly as Sascha ran to restrain their father from behind, who was yelling something that Bucky couldn't quite make out over the loud ringing in his ears. He blinked slowly, trying to force himself back to reality as he felt Sebastian shove him to his feet, trying to pull him out the door, and out of the corner of his eye he could see tears running down Anna's face as she clasped a hand to her mouth, eyes wide with shock.

Jessica was screaming in Russian at their mother who seemed to be screaming back, and although Bucky was still too dizzy to catch all of it he was able to pick up the occasional phrase.

"...ваш сын! Что ты делаешь?!" _(Tr: …your son! What are you doing?!)_

"сын диавола нет моего сына." _(The son of the devil is not my son.)_

"Come on," Sebastian was shouting into Bucky's ear, "James, come on buddy, we gotta go-"

" _No,_ " he found himself roaring, staggering upright and blinking rapidly to try and clear his head. "They don't get to treat me like this, not after everything we've been through, it's not _fair!"_

 

 _"We have to go,"_ Sebastian yelled again over the sound of Sascha physically restraining their father, who seemed to have lost all control somewhere along the line and now looked as though he was literally ready to kill his second son. 

" _Get out of my house,"_ he bellowed, eyes red and bloodshot, fighting against the body forcing his arms behind his back. "James Buchanan Barnes, get the _hell_ out of my house, you _fucking faggot!"_

Sebastian had grabbed a hold of his arm and was trying to drag him out of the room. Before he knew it Henry was there too, yanking hard on his shoulders, trying to force him backwards and out into the hallway. But Bucky wasn't ready to leave yet, because it couldn't end like this, he wouldn't let it end like this, he couldn't give them the satisfaction of having beaten him. So, petty as it was, he reached out with one hand and knocked a blue flower vase on the dresser to the floor, feeling triumphant as he heard it smash on the ground below him.

There was the sound of something else smashing as something glass exploded on the wall behind Bucky's head, and when he whipped around to see what it was he saw that his father had managed to wrestle free one of his hands from Sascha's grip and was aiming another glass.

Sebastian's voice was loud again in Bucky's ear, " _Come ON!",_ and then he was being dragged from the room by two of his brothers. He could still hear the yelling, and feel the blood trickling down his lip from where it had split in half. He was pretty sure there was a shard of glass embedded in the back of his neck, but he could deal with that later. His heart was still racing in his chest and he could hear it throbbing in his ears, giving him a headache. 

"You can stay with me and Josie," his brother was saying as he pulled Bucky down the hallway and towards the front door, "she won't mind at all, we'll just swing by your place and pick up some stuff-"

"No," Bucky heard himself saying, shaking his head and trying to wrench himself free, "No, I don't want-"

"Just stay with him," Henry snapped, "you need to be with _family_ -"

" _Family_ ," Bucky snarled, managing to tear his arm out of Henry's grip and push him off to the side, "is the _last_ thing I need right now." With a final tug he wrestled himself out of Sebastian's grip and shoved him backwards, running for the front door and jerking it open so hard that he felt the joint in his left shoulder click painfully. He slammed the door shut behind him as he fell onto the porch and held it closed, momentarily drowning out the sound of his brothers shouting at him. It was pitch black outside and freezing cold, and he knew that all he had to do was make it to where his car was parked on the next block over and he'd be in the clear. There clearly wasn't any point sticking around; it didn't look like either of his parents were going to change their minds any time soon. He was just about to leave when one of the windows facing the driveway was tugged open, and what looked like a necklace was tossed carelessly out onto the hard concrete. Not seconds later, he heard his mother's furious voice carry out of the window:

"Вы можете иметь это обратно, и все! Я никогда не хочу видеть тебя рядом с этим домом снова, вы больны уродец!" _(You can have these back and all! I never want to see you near this house again, you sick freak)_

Bucky relinquished his hold on the door and ran to the driveway, scooping up whatever she'd just thrown out up in his hands, before quite literally sprinting off down the sidewalk. He heard the front door burst open and he heard his brother's voices, shouting for him, trying to convince him to wait, and he'd never been so glad for the lack of streetlights in Cobble Hill in his life.

After what seemed like years he finally reached his car and tore open the door, collapsing into the drivers seat and slamming it shut behind him again. 

Everything felt so quiet. He could hear his own breathing loudly in the confined space, and although he was sure his brothers would catch up to him soon he couldn't bring himself to drive off just yet.

He knew he couldn't go back to his house, they'd look there, so where else was he supposed to go? He could try Natasha maybe, or Clint, or even Steve. Steve would probably ask less questions, maybe he'd best go there.

He took a deep breath, letting his head drop back onto the headrest. That had gone just about as badly as it possibly could have. In fact, aside from an actual murder, it probably couldn't have been any worse. But he was alright, he was fine, because he had to be practical about this. It was the only way he knew how to deal with it. Deep down, he'd known that they would all react like this- and besides, he was an adult. What was the point in getting upset? He was a grown up. He could handle it. He could handle everything.

Slowly, he unclenched his fist to reveal the chain in his hands, and felt his heart tear at the sight. His dog tags. The ones he'd given to his parents after he'd gotten back from Ukraine, when he promised he'd done them proud and that he'd done his part. And his mother had been so pleased, because her boy was home, and safe, and alive.

And she'd thrown them back at him like they were nothing. Like everything he'd done was nothing. Because _he_ was nothing. Not to her. Not anymore.

_What have I done?_

Bucky Barnes looked down through the darkness at the chain in his trembling hands, and cried.

 

*

 

Steve wasn't one to frequently illegally download media, but when he'd heard Tony and Sam rave for about 40 minutes about some movie called Pacific Rim he'd had to see it for himself. And, as it wasn't on youtube and he didn't have enough money on his iTunes account, his only option had been to call Darcy for help and have her email him the link to watch it online. Sure, he felt bad about it, but at the end of the day one time wasn't gonna hurt anyone was it?

So after dinner he'd sat himself comfortably on his bed, head propped up by pillows, wearing nothing but his super comfortable navy pyjama pants, with a bowl of popcorn and his laptop and started watching the movie.

Tony and Sam definitely hadn't been wrong; so far he was only about half an hour in and it was already easily one of the greatest movies Steve had watched in the last six years.

"God damn, Raleigh Beckett," he sighed to himself through a mouthful of popcorn, shaking his head at the laptop screen on his lap. "I will definitely be googling you later." He reached for another handful of popcorn, but before he got the chance to drop some into his mouth there was a firm and insistent knock on his front door.

Steve sighed. _Of course. Typical. Totally typical._ He slid out from under the duvet and got to his feet, absently clicking his neck by leaning his head to one side and then the other before heading out of his bedroom and towards the front door.

There was another loud knock.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming!" Steve unhooked the chain from the door and swung it open, and was faintly shocked to see Bucky of all people standing there, apologetic smile on his face, bruising along his left cheekbone and a split in his lower lip. He _stank_ of cigarette smoke. "Jesus christ-"

"Hi," Bucky greeted, grimacing. "Can I come in?"

_He looks like someone punched him in the face._

"What the fuck happened to you?" Steve demanded as Bucky pushed his way into his apartment, sliding out of his coat and draping it across the back of a chair.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Who did this?!"

"I said I don't wanna talk about it," Bucky snapped, absently smoothing his hands down his sides before folding his arms and looking determinedly _not_ at Steve. "I'll tell you later, alright?"

Steve frowned, chewing on the inside of his cheek. It didn't exactly seem like a great solution to him, but Bucky wasn't giving him any room to negotiate here so he figured it wasn't worth the time wasted on trying. "Do you want some ice for that?" He offered instead, wincing slightly as he gestured to the bruising along Bucky's face.

"No thanks, I'm okay."

Steve sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. "Right. Drink?"

Bucky made a relieved sound, collapsing into one of Steve's kitchen chairs. "Please." 

Steve set about opening a bottle of wine while Bucky absently drummed his fingers on the table, not making eye contact with Steve whenever he turned around to glance at him. 

Steve returned to the table with two glasses of red, placing one down in front of Bucky before dropping down into the chair opposite him. He watched Bucky lift the glass with a deep sigh, practically downing the whole thing in one go, and couldn't help but wonder- not for the first time since the night before- what he'd been through that was so classified he wasn't allowed to know about it. But now wasn't exactly the time to ask. "You have fun with your family?"

He could've sworn Bucky's eyes darkened at that, and Steve's brows crinkled in confusion when Bucky let out a somewhat bitter laugh.

"Oh yeah. Great time."

Steve sighed, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. "Buck, talk to me. Please."

Bucky's pocket starting buzzing. He sighed loudly, snatching his phone out of his jacket and switching it on silent before thrusting it back into his pocket. "I _will_ , I just… Not right now, okay? I just need a bit of chill time." He fidgeted absently with the glass in front of him. "What were you doing before I got here?"

Steve shrugged, trying to force the lump of worry out of his throat. "Watching a movie on my laptop."

"Can we do that?"

Steve gave him a half smile. "Sure. You ever seen Pacific Rim?"

Bucky shook his head, raising an eyebrow. "Nah. I hear Darcy talk about it all the time though."

"It's really good," Steve promised. "I'm a bit into it already but I can restart if-"

"No," Bucky interrupted, "wherever you're at is fine, honestly."

Steve smiled, getting to his feet and taking his wineglass with him. "Come on then."

He actually received a smile in return, and then Bucky was following him through into the bedroom. Steve honestly couldn't have been more happy to worm his way back under the covers, the heat of his laptop warming his legs as he balanced the thing on his lap.

Bucky paused for just a second before undoing the buttons on his shirt and tugging it off, letting it drop to the floor.

Steve raised an eyebrow at him, eyeing his chest and the long chain that hung from around his neck. "Buck, are you wearing your dog tags?"

Bucky reached for them almost unconsciously, as if he had to check if they were still there. Steve watched as he fingered the metal strips with a small frown. "Oh, yeah, I am. Ma… Gave them back to me."

Bucky seemed uncomfortable with that particular line of conversation so Steve didn't press the issue, and a few seconds later Bucky slid under the duvet beside Steve, letting out a deep sigh as he let his head fall to rest on Steve's shoulder. Steve bit down on his lip in an attempt to stop himself from smiling, but he really couldn't help curling one arm around Bucky and dragging him a tiny bit closer, before bending his arm at the elbow so his fingers could lace themselves into Bucky's hair.

Bucky snorted with laughter as he draped an arm over Steve's chest, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. "This is so sappy."

"Shut up," Steve smirked, feeling the heat from Bucky's body pressed up against his own. "You started it."

"All I wanted was to watch a movie, I didn't sign up for all of this _cuddling_ stuff."

"And we will watch the movie," Steve pointed out with a grin, pressing a quick kiss to Bucky's forehead, "as soon as you stop talking."

Steve couldn't actually _see_ Bucky roll his eyes, but he was beyond certain that he had. After a couple of seconds Steve pressed 'play' and the movie started up again, although he was having a lot more trouble concentrating on it with Bucky's fingers tracing out slow, deliberate patterns across his ribs.

"Bucky," Steve groaned after about ten minutes of this, "stop it, you're distracting me. I wanna watch the movie."

"Sorry," the dark-haired man chuckled into Steve's neck. "я буду останавливаться."

"What does that mean?"

"Oh god, sorry, too much time with family today; it just means 'I'll stop'." 

Steve hummed his understanding. "I wish I spoke Russian. Even just a little bit. Or y'know, just another language in general. I think it'd be cool." He definitely didn't tell Bucky how sexy he thought it sounded when he swore in Russian under his breath during sex, because that was a very private thought that Steve wanted to keep for himself.

Bucky lifted his head to grin at Steve, before wincing slightly and raising one hand to press absently against his badly bruised cheek. "Want me to teach you?"

Steve raised an eyebrow at him as he closed the laptop, movie forgotten. "Russian? Can you?"

Bucky half shrugged. "Probably. I can try, at least."

"Really?"

Bucky's head dropped back down onto Steve's shoulder, and he made a contented noise. "I don't see why not. Where d'you wanna start?"

Steve smiled, leaning back into the pillows. "Um. What's 'happy birthday'?"

Bucky snorted. "Don't you wanna learn 'hello' or something first?"

"Nope."

"Fine…С днем pождения."

"С днем pождения," Steve repeated with a grin, and Bucky lightly slapped him on the arm. 

"You're the most cliche white boy boyfriend in literally the entire world."

"What does that make you then?!"

"Excuse me," Bucky laughed, "I'm European, and that makes me slightly more exotic than you."

Steve snorted. "Bullshit."

"It does!"

"Says who?!"

Bucky laughed, pressing a soft kiss to Steve's neck. "Uhh, the world?"

"I don't buy it," Steve teased.

"Good 'cause I aint selling it, it's a fact." Steve felt Bucky's lips against his neck again. "Are you really gonna argue with me on my birthday?"

Steve grinned, giving Bucky's hair a teasing tug with his fingers. "Might as well do all our arguing now while you're still young enough to remember everything."

Bucky snorted. "Okay, that's really offensive."

"Offensive? How is that offensive, I'm telling the truth."

Bucky grinned. "I hate you."

"Oh please, you _love_ me," Steve smirked, lightly smacking Bucky's shoulder with his free hand.

"You're an idiot," Bucky chuckled, curling closer into Steve's chest. There was a strange softness to his voice that hadn't been there before- a gentleness in the way his fingers traced over the muscles of Steve's stomach; their touch so light that it sent small shivers of electricity down to the base of Steve's spine. He opened his mouth, a slight crease appearing in his forehead, and for a minute he looked as though he was about to say something. But then he let out a small sigh, and his mouth drifted shut, and Steve was left staring at him with a curious expression.

"What? What were you gonna say?"

"I wasn't gonna say anythin'."

"Yes you were, I could tell-"

He was cut off by Bucky's mouth slamming against his, and he let out a small sound of surprise before flying into autopilot, gripping hold of one of Bucky's legs and tugging him closer, twisting slightly onto his side so he was facing the other man. The kiss was hard, insistent, and before Steve could even react there was a hand in his hair, dragging him closer, and all Steve could think was _I love you, fuck, I love you._ Bucky's lips were dry and chapped, and his mouth tasted of cigarettes and something metallic, like blood, and that was when Steve remembered that his lip was all banged up from something that Bucky wouldn't tell him about. Then there was a hand dragging down his chest, fumbling with his belt, and Steve soon found himself fighting an internal battle.

It didn't take long for him to reach a decision. "Wait," he managed to gasp out in between kisses, putting a hand on Bucky's chest and pushing himself away. "Wait, Buck, wait."

Bucky frowned, breathing heavily, propping himself up on one arm so as to run a hand through his hair. "What, fuck's sake, what's up?"

Steve looked him dead in the eyes, running one hand almost comfortingly along Bucky's side. "What happened to you?"

Bucky groaned, making to roll away, but Steve grabbed hold of his arm and forced him to stay put.

"Bucky, please."

"I already fucking _told_ you, Rogers, I don't wanna talk about it!"

"Bucky," Steve tried again in a pleading tone, but Bucky wasn't having any of it.

"I was mugged, alright? It's nothing, it doesn't matter, just back off!"

Steve sighed. "Right, now you're lying to me."

"I'm not lying!"

"You are, I know you are, because you're a terrible liar." 

Bucky raised an eyebrow, giving Steve a defiant look. "I'm a big boy, Stevie, I can handle shit on my own."

Steve groaned. "And I never said you couldn't, I'm just trying to _help!"_

There was a silence. Bucky stared at Steve with narrowed eyes, and Steve stared right on back. Eventually, though, Bucky seemed to give in. He let out a deep sigh, brushing his fingers through his hair. 

"You wanna help me then, huh?"

Steve gave him a look. "Of course I do."

Bucky leaned a little closer. "Then here's what you're gonna do," he murmured into Steve's ear, before pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive spot behind his ear. Steve's breath hitched slightly in his throat. "You're gonna sit there and not fucking move, got it?"

Steve frowned, trying to sit up and protest, but Bucky swung himself up onto Steve's lap and straddled his waist, pinning him down with both hands on his chest and pressing his lips against Steve's in a deep, bruising kiss. By the time he pulled away again Steve was breathless and a little pissed off.

"Bucky, seriously, I wanna know who-"

"No, shut up for a second, I'm talking." Bucky's lips attached themselves to Steve's jawline, and the feeling of the moist heat of his perfect mouth against his skin was enough to temporarily stun Steve into silence. "What I need right now is just a little bit of human contact, okay? That's it. So here's the deal; you're gonna sit still, and I'm gonna suck you off, and then we'll talk."

"Bucky," Steve hissed, "I'd really rather you don't take your mood out on my dick."

"Oh please, I love your dick, I wouldn't hurt that any more than I'd punch you in the face."

"I'll punch _you_ in the face in a minute," Steve muttered.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Too bad someone else got there first, huh?"

Steve winced. Oops. "Fucking hell, Bucky, just talk to me."

"I will," Bucky promised, pushing a smooth kiss against Steve's neck, "but first, I'm gonna need you to let me shamelessly use your body for sex. Unless you _really_ don't want me to, in which case, never mind."

"How do I know you won't just back out afterwards?" Steve asked warily, muscles tensing out of habit as he felt Bucky's teeth scrape against the side of his neck.  

"You don't," Bucky conceded, "but for what it's worth, I swear." And then he was kissing Steve's neck, hands sliding slowly down his chest and towards his belt.

Steve sighed unhappily as he let his head fall back into the pillows, but the sigh soon turned into a short hiss as Bucky palmed at the front of his jeans.

A low, rumbling laugh escaped Bucky's lips and he leaned up again to kiss Steve on the mouth, slow and deep and heavy, and the dog tags around his neck jingled as his hand began to rhythmically palm small circles across Steve's groin. "Still not in the mood?"

Steve groaned, fighting the urge to arch his back into it. "Fuck off."

"Oh, bite me," Bucky chuckled as he pressed a line of kisses along Steve's collarbone, continuing to slowly massaging his hand against Steve's crotch. "I need this today."

Steve grunted his understanding. "And why's that exactly?" He questioned through gritted teeth, balling his hand into a fist around the blankets as Bucky's mouth closed around one of his nipples, the cool metal of Bucky's dog tags resting lightly on his skin.

Bucky smirked but didn't answer. His tongue flicked out to caress Steve's skin as he continued to slide gradually down his chest, occasionally pausing to suck on any particular area that caught his fancy. One of his hands continued to apply pressure to the front of Steve's jeans while the other slid up and down his chest, tracing the lines of muscle along his abdomen and slowly but surely driving Steve insane.

"It's _your_ birthday," Steve mumbled, propping his head up with one arm in order to watch as the other man's mouth made its way slowly towards his crotch. "I feel like we should switch places."

Bucky shook his head, readjusting himself so that he was kneeling in between Steve's legs. He pressed a light kiss to the skin just above Steve's bellybutton before glancing up at him. "This is what I want, okay?"

Steve sighed, giving him a look. " _Okay_ , but if you change your mind-"

"I won't change my mind." The pressure from the heel of Bucky's hand was suddenly gone and Steve let out a disappointed 'oh' at its loss, before he felt two hands fumbling with his belt buckle.

"Sorry," Bucky apologised, "This belt confuses me. I need two hands. Never wear this one again."

Steve huffed out a laugh. "You got it, sergeant."

"Don't sass me when I'm about to put your cock in my mouth, Stevie, god knows what might happen," Bucky teased, and for a brief second their eyes met. And then Steve's belt finally came loose.

Steve grinned, pushing his fingers through Bucky's hair and angling his head down. "Get to work or I'm making you swap places."

Bucky was laughing as he made fast work of Steve's zipper, tugging his jeans down to reveal his boxer briefs. "Aye aye, captain."

Steve drew in a sharp breath as Bucky trailed his tongue lazily along the strip of skin just above the waistband of his underwear. "Come ooon, Bucky," he groaned, eyes flickering shut as he felt Bucky's hands slide up the insides of his thighs. And then Bucky's mouth was locking onto his hipbone, sucking at the skin there, and a warm hand slid up under one side of his underwear to grip at his ass, the other hand pushing one of Steve's legs slightly further away from the other one.

"Stop rushing me," Bucky hummed in amusement as his lips fell away from Steve's hip with a soft, wet sound. "Just let me do my thing." He glanced up from between Steve's legs to wink at him, pressing another small kiss to the bone of his hip before sinking slightly lower to press his mouth over the bulge in the front of Steve's boxer briefs.

Steve let out a small pained noise, flashes of pleasure coursing through him, and he was half tempted to just escape to the bathroom and finish the job off himself. "Bucky," he snapped again, "you're killing me here." 

Bucky rolled his eyes. "That's actually the point, shut the fuck up Steve." He slowly tugged at the waistband of Steve's underwear, carefully pulling them down around his knees. He ran his tongue once along his lips to wet them, glancing up to shoot Steve a small smirk. "You better be super nice to me after this."

"I can't believe you actually want to suck me off with a split lip."

Bucky shrugged, grinning. "What can I say, it's been one of those days. Although- just to be sure- you're clean, right?"

Steve nodded, ignoring the bead of sweat that dripped down the back of his neck in anticipation. "I get tested every couple of months just in case."

Bucky grinned. "Good, me too." He carefully lifted Steve's already hard dick with one hand, pressing his lips to the head in a gentle kiss, before ducking his head down and sucking whatever he could into his mouth. He hollowed his cheeks out as he began to work up a rhythm, one of his hands running smoothly up his leg, fingers grasping hold of one of his hips pinning him against the bed. 

Steve let out a gasp, which quickly turned into a half-stifled moan as Bucky pulled away with a soft pop, before spitting into his other hand and wrapping it around the base of his dick, lips returning to the head. Within seconds the punishing rhythm was back, and _god_ , Bucky'd given him blowjobs before but not like this, this was something way more intimate, and careful, and there was something almost delicate about the way his fingers curled around his cock, and how Bucky's eyes fluttered shut every time Steve let out a quiet groan, arching back slightly into the bed and almost lifting his hips off the mattress.

"Bucky," he gasped out, reaching out with his hand and knotting his fingers in Bucky's messy dark hair, "oh god-" he let out a sharp whine, and he felt Bucky's mouth widen slightly as he grinned around Steve's dick.

Steve's brain felt like it was about to explode, and hearing Bucky's small whimpers of pleasure whenever Steve found himself gasping for breath was definitely not helping, at at this rate he'd be gone in a matter of minutes. "Fuck," he practically begged, "Bucky, wait-"

"Mm?" The humming sound send short, sharp vibrations up through Steve's entire body and he gritted his teeth, forcing back the noise that was building in his chest.

"Come here," he just about managed to rasp out as he jerked Bucky's head up by his hair, gasping for breath as he propped himself up on one elbow and slammed their mouths together, not the slightest bit surprised when Bucky growled into the sloppy kiss, teeth catching on his bottom lip, both hands racing to cup Steve's neck as he slid up into his lap.

The friction would've been amazing if Bucky hadn't still been wearing pants, and with the hand that wasn't threading through his hair Steve raced to undo the other man's button and zipper, heart pounding, because even though it wasn't the first time they'd done this it always felt special, like it was a new experience every time. Admittedly that was ridiculously sappy, even for Steve, but he couldn't bring himself to care because fuck, he was head over heels in love with the dark-haired idiot with a shady past and a stupidly severe allergy to cats.

Bucky let out a whine of indignation, tearing away for a split second as Steve's hand found its way to his crotch. "Hang on, I thought we weren't doing me," he half complained through heavy-lidded eyes, but Steve was barely even listening, eyes too focused on Bucky's wet, puffy lips, and the way he ran his tongue almost distractedly along them.

"We are now," Steve told him decisively as he managed to tug down the zipper, and then Bucky's mouth was back against his in a dizzying kiss, and there was a hand bumping against his as he tried to pull down Bucky's jeans, and then the contact was gone for a second while Bucky tore off his pants and kicked them to the floor. But within seconds he was back, slipping in between Steve's legs, and rolling their hips together, laughing breathlessly as his forehead pressed against Steve's chest. Jesus, Bucky was just as hard as he was, and Steve had absolutely no idea how he had planned to just sit there and not get off at all with that going on. The cold metal of the chain around Bucky's neck burned Steve's currently hypersensitive skin as they pushed themselves impossibly closer, needing the friction, craving it.

"Do you have stuff?" Bucky hissed into Steve's shoulder, and Steve let out a loud groan as realization suddenly hit him.

"Fuck," he grunted, "no, I don't, we used the last condom on Monday and I didn't think you'd be coming over-"

"It's fine," Bucky interrupted, slotting his hips in around Steve's again and drawing an embarrassingly desperate sound out of his lips. "It's fine, we're fine."

"Sorry-"

Bucky rolled his eyes, brushing back the strands of hair that were stuck to his face with sweat. "Shut up, you'll kill the mood."

Steve snorted. "My bad." He pressed his mouth to Bucky's in a heavy kiss before pulling back and attaching his lips to his throat, tugging with one hand on Bucky's hair to let his head fall back and further expose his neck.

"ебать," Bucky gasped, fingers digging into Steve's hipbones, "Oh god, Steve, _fuck_ -"

Steve's lips paved a trail down Bucky's neck, sucking almost desperately on the skin there, and Bucky made sure their hips kept slipping together in time with Steve's mouth, his hand sliding into Steve's hair from behind and gripping tightly onto him for support. He gasped as his own head fell back, eyes drifting shut.

At this point Steve didn't even care that it was kind of pathetic that they were rubbing off on each other like teenagers instead of having actual sex, because all that mattered was Bucky and his sweat-soaked skin, mouth falling open in a sharp whine of pleasure as Steve's teeth grazed the skin of his neck.

Before Steve could fully register what was happening there was a hand at his jaw, jerking his face upwards, and then Bucky's mouth was on his again, warm and damp and urgent, his tongue pressing heavily into Steve's mouth.

The pressure that had been building up inside his chest since Bucky had kissed him was threatening to explode, and Steve found himself making small gasping noises into Bucky's mouth.

"Hey, Buck, I-"

"I know," Bucky breathed, fingers tightening in his hair, "I'm getting pretty good at noticing your signs."

Steve let out a breathless laugh, head spinning as their bodies ground together, courtesy of Bucky's hips. "That's a little creepy, isn't it?"

"Shut up, do you wanna cum or not?" 

Steve's laugh turned into a gasp as Bucky's mouth slammed roughly against his own, curling his tongue sloppily around Steve's as his fingers dragged down his back. Steve was sure that Bucky's nails would leave a mark on his back but he didn't care, _couldn't_  care less.

But as close as he was it wasn't until Bucky's body stilled above him, swearing quietly and groaning Steve's name brokenly into his ear, that the tension in his stomach finally released and he let his head collapse onto Bucky's chest, gasping for breath, heart racing.

The weight of Bucky's limp body leaning on his, being as completely drained as he was, was enough to force Steve onto his back on the mattress, head just about touching the pillow, and Bucky made a contented sound as he pressed a final kiss to Steve's shoulder and rolled off of him with a groan.

Neither of them moved for a couple of seconds, lying side by side. Both of their chests were heaving, and Steve was positive that his heartbeat was so loud Bucky was able to hear it, if not _feel_ it. Everything felt a little dizzy- his head still hadn't stopped spinning.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, Bucky turned his head to face him, giving him a smug grin.

"I'm so proud of you Stevie, you didn't even cry that time."

Steve let out a snort of laughter, covering his face with his arm. "You think you're so fucking hilarious."

He didn't even have to look to know that Bucky was smiling. "Punk, I'm the funniest god damn guy you've ever met, don't even lie to yourself." The bed creaked as Bucky got to his feet, and Steve's arm flopped away from his face to rest at his side. He rolled onto his side to watch him.

"Where're you going?"

"Cigarette," Bucky explained as he disappeared into the bathroom. Steve heard the tap running, and when Bucky reappeared the cum was gone from his chest and he seemed to have splashed water on his face. Droplets of water were dripping down from the strands of hair framing his cheekbones. He snatched up his jeans from the floor and tugged them on, not bothering with his belt. "I'm dying for a smoke."

Steve sighed, sitting upright and propping himself up by locking his elbows. "Want me to come with?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "It's like 41 degrees outside." He opened the doors to the closet and grabbed one of Steve's hoodies at random, tugging it on over his bare chest, and Steve made a face.

"Ugh. Cold." Nonetheless he got to his feet too, brushing one hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth it. "I'll come with you anyway."

"Suit yourself," Bucky said in a singsong voice.

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. "You owe me a talk, remember?"

Bucky groaned, flapping his arms about arbitrarily. "Right now? My brain's still zonked out, Steve, can't you give it half an hour?"

Steve smirked at him as he ducked into the bathroom and snatched a towel off the rack, using it to clean himself up. He could shower later. "Do you wanna order pizza or something or did you eat with your parents?" He questioned as he reentered the bedroom, where Bucky was waiting for him in the doorway, cigarette tucked behind his ear in a way that Steve would never admit he found attractive and a lighter in his hand.

"I wouldn't say no to pizza," Bucky admitted with a hopeful smile, and Steve grinned up at him as he pulled his pants on, reaching for his phone and stuffing it in his pocket. He tugged a t-shirt on over his head and threw on his favourite brown leather jacket before motioning to the door. Bucky took the hint and headed through the living room and over to the fire escape.

Five minutes later and the pair were sitting side by side on the steps out on the fire escape. It was already dark, of course, and it was- completely, undoubtedly, _unequivocally_ \- the coldest night ever to exist, _ever_. Steve was trying to keep himself busy by drumming his fingertips on his thighs in an attempt to take his mind off the chills, and Bucky kept flicking the flame on his lighter. The smoke wafting into his face from Bucky's cigarette wasn't exactly pleasant but it was weirdly comforting, reminding Steve a little of his chain-smoking mother.

"I'm gonna call the pizza place," Steve decided after a few more seconds of silence, fishing for his phone in his pocket. "What do you want?"

"Mmm," Bucky hummed thoughtfully, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette before placing the thing in between his lips. "Large meatlover's with extra cheese and extra… Whatever meat they put on it. Do they do garlic bread?"

Steve's eyes widened. "Dude, I could really go for some garlic bread."

"Get some garlic bread too then."

"I totally will." Steve flicked through his contacts for a minute before settling on Papa John's and pressing call, lifting the phone to his ear and jogging his knees up and down to keep warm.

By the time Steve had finished ordering Bucky had already finished his cigarette and thrown it over the side of the building, and he was watching Steve expectantly. "Well?"

Steve raised an eyebrow. "Well what?"

Bucky gave him a prompting look, "Did they have garlic bread?"

Steve grinned and nodded. "You bet your sweet ass they did."

Bucky practically beamed at him, flashing his teeth as he clapped Steve on the shoulder. "Nice. I'll pay for that."

"It's your birthday, idiot. I'm paying."

Bucky frowned. "That's not fair. I just kind of turned up here, you didn't _arrange_ to buy me dinner."

The corners of Steve's mouth twitched up into a smile. "Too bad, I'm paying." He gave Bucky a quick peck on the lips. "Happy birthday."

Bucky smiled, shaking his head slightly as he looked off over the side of the fire escape and into the traffic-filled street below. "Thank you."

The amicable silence returned, and once again, Steve was the one to break it. He let one of his hands rest gently on Bucky's thigh, mostly just for the sake of physical contact. "So I know I'm starting to sound a bit like a broken record here, but-"

Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes. "What happened to my face, right?"

Steve bit his lip. "Right."

Bucky didn't respond at once. He remained still for a moment, hugging his arms to his chest and sinking lower into Steve's hoodie, which was definitely way too big for him. "It's kind of a difficult story," he said eventually, glancing sideways at Steve. "And you're not gonna like it."

Steve frowned. "Well obviously, Bucky, someone punched you in the face, I'm not gonna be super hyped about that."

Bucky rolled his eyes, and the traces of a smirk crossed his face for less than a second. "Fair enough." There was another brief silence as Bucky reached into his jeans pocket for his pack of cigarettes, pulling out another with fingers trembling from the cold, and only just managing to light it. "Can't feel my fuckin' hands," he muttered mostly to himself, and Steve nodded with a sigh because he knew exactly how he felt. 

Bucky lifted the cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply, not looking in Steve's direction at all, and Steve didn't know what to do other than sit there in silence and wait for him to keep talking. Which, eventually, he did.

"I came out today," he sighed finally, eyes fixed firmly on the cigarette in his fingers. "To my family, I mean. All of 'em."

"Oh," was all Steve said, but apparently that was enough, because Bucky kept talking.

"My siblings- the ones that didn't know already- they were all pretty surprised. They were good about it though. Didn't seem to care. Or maybe they just felt bad for me. Oh hey, you know who was there? At my parents' house for dinner?"

Steve knew he was trying to change the subject but there was a certain glint in Bucky's eyes, a look of desperation or something similar, and he figured it wouldn't hurt to humour him for just a few more minutes. So he raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"My brother's new girlfriend. You'll never guess who it is."

"Who?"

Bucky exhaled a long stream of smoke. "Melissa Davies. Can you believe that?"

Steve blinked. "Wait, the _student_ Melissa? The one we teach? Brown hair, annoying laugh, friends with that Annie girl-"

Bucky nodded, giving him a look. "Yup. She's actually dating my brother. They're together. Henry and Melissa. Oh, and apparently she goes by 'Mel'."

"No shit," Steve said, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "That's… Huh."

"It was pretty uncomfortable at first. But I dunno, Henry seems to like her…" Bucky shrugged. "I mean, he's dated worse girls, you know?"

Steve almost grinned. "Guess so."

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head as he took another drag from the cigarette in his hand. "Anyway." 

"Anyway," Steve echoed for pretty much no reason, letting out a deep sigh.

Bucky offered him a little smile and Steve returned it, giving his leg a gentle squeeze.

"So, uh, I came out. That happened. I don't really know what I was thinking, I just… I figured I might as well tell them, you know? I'm not exactly getting any younger here. And my siblings were cool about it, but my parents- my ma in particular- they weren't quite as… As cool." 

Steve's jaw hardened and he bit the inside of his cheek, slowly turning his head to face Bucky again. He knew what he was going to say. "They weren't?" 

Bucky scratched at the back of his head. "Not… Exactly. I mean, you know how I mentioned a while ago that my Ma was pretty religious?"

Steve nodded, but the motion was almost mechanical, as the only thought going through his mind was _fuck it, now I have to push his parents in front of a train._

"Well, yeah. That pretty much explains it all. She… Um, she pretty much flipped. Totally freaked out. Got out of her chair and everything, screamed that I was a mistake and a disgrace- this was in the middle of dinner, mind you, in front of _everyone_ \- and when I got up to argue back she slapped me in the face. And she's never hit any of us before, literally never, and it sounds kind of stupid but I was really fucking shocked- _"_ Bucky broke off, breathing heavily, and Steve felt like someone had somehow inserted an entire dumbbell into his stomach.

 _Oh my god, I'm gonna be sick. Poor fucking guy..._  He reached out for Bucky's hand and entwined their fingers together, squeezing tightly, and almost let out a sigh of relief when Bucky squeezed back.

"Anyway," Bucky continued after clearing his throat, dropping his forgotten cigarette onto the floor and ignoring it. "Dad stood up then and just told me to leave. And I guess I can kind of see why, I was pretty fucking mad, and people all around the table were yelling, and Anna looked like she was about to cry, and it was all a little overwhelming, but I didn't want to be the one that gave in so I lashed out and knocked the glass out of his hands. And then he punched me. I don't think he _meant_ to hit so hard, it was kind of an accident, but _fuck me_ did it hurt, I would've fallen over if Sebastian hadn't been behind me." 

Steve wanted to shake him and yell _'why are you making excuses for these people?!'_ but he couldn't bring himself to do it, because this was Bucky's _family_ , and Steve had never had to deal with any of that shit at home so what did he know about it? Nothing, he knew fuck all, and that pretty much invalidated any out-of-the-park advice he might want to give. So instead he kept his mouth clamped shut, and he listened.

"He tried to herd me out of the room, then. Sebastian I mean. But I was just _so mad,_ I kept yelling, and Sascha had to restrain my dad, who was yelling for me to get out of his house- but I didm't want to give him the satisfaction, you know? So I smashed a vase on the table out of spite, and Dad threw a glass at the wall beside my head, and then Seb and Henry had to shove me out of the room. But I didn't want them to leave with me you know, because I was… God, I was just so fucking mad, Stevie, you can't even understand, so I sort of pushed them out of the way and stormed out. And then as I was leaving my mom threw these," he jingled the tags around his neck, "out of the window, and said 'never come to this house again', except it sounded more angry and in Russian, so… I left. And then I came here. But, I mean, don't freak out, okay? It really aint that bad. I kind of knew something like this would happen. It just… Freaked me out a bit. I was fucked off at the time, but I'm fine now, I'm okay, honestly."

_He came to me._

Bucky's face had gone a bit of a green colour, and although his voice had been cool and stable throughout his recount of the story it was obvious to Steve that he was definitely less okay than he was making out. Steve really didn't know what to say. He had a list of ideas compiled in his head, but none of them… None of them seemed sincere enough.

_There's nothing wrong with you._

_I wish you would've told me sooner._

_Fuck them, you don't need them anyway._

_I'm here for you._

_I'm sorry._

_I love you._

Bucky was looking straight ahead, and the rims of his eyes were lined with red, like he was forcing back tears. Steve's heart practically shattered into pieces, and he only knew one thing for certain: the people that did this to him were gonna have to be skinned alive. There was no other options. Steve didn't make the rules.

He hesitated for just a second before putting one hand on the side of Bucky's neck and turning him to face him, pulling the other man against his chest. Bucky crumpled against his body, taking a deep breath, and Steve felt him shudder slightly as he exhaled, burying his face into Steve's shoulder.

"I'm glad you came here," Steve mumbled as he ran his fingers through Bucky's hair.

"So am I," Bucky sighed, but the sound was muffled slightly by the fact that his face was pressed tightly into Steve's jacket collar.

"None of this shit is your fault, Bucky. And no offence, but your parents are assholes."

"They're not _assholes_ , Steve, they're just… Stuck in their ways, I guess." He sighed. "I know it shouldn't really bother me- I mean I'm thirty years old, officially. I'm an adult. It's not like I live at home and they're making my life hell, you know? There's nothing stopping me from never talking to them again. But they're my _parents_ , and it _really_ bothers me, and I… _Fuck_ , I should just go back there and sort it out, shouldn't I?" 

"You don't need that sort of queerphobic shit in your life. At all. If I were you," Steve shrugged as Bucky sat up, brushing a hand through his hair, "I wouldn't bother mending the bridges. You're not the one who needs to apologise."

Bucky grimaced. "I didn't say I wanted to _apologise_ … Stevie, you don't _understand_. Okay? They're my _family_." 

"That doesn't mean you have to put up with this _bullshit_ , Bucky! How the hell can you let them treat you like that and then talk about going around to try and fix it?!"

Bucky groaned loudly, covering his face with his hand. "See; this is why I didn't wanna tell you."

Steve gave him an incredulous look. "Why's that?"

"Because I knew you'd get all mad and overprotective-"

"I'm not being ' _overprotective_ ' when I'm pissed off at the people who physically abused my boyfriend, okay? That is _not_ being _overprotective_."

"I'm a grown-ass man, Steve! I can handle this on my own!"

Steve grabbed his shoulder, pulling on it so Bucky was forced to face him. "That's just it: you don't _have_ to."

Bucky eyed him with a disgruntled look. "I don't need you fighting my battles. I'm pretty sure I got this."

"You're _allowed_ to not 'got this'," Steve said, exasperated. "Okay?! You don't have to just take everything on the fucking chin; yeah, I've noticed that you tend to do that."

Bucky glared at him. "We all got our own ways of coping, alright, and this is mine, so back the fuck off."

"Jim said you might need to let someone in every once in a while."

Bucky rolled his eyes, scoffing. "Oh, did he now? And what else did Guru Jim tell you?"

Steve sighed, giving him a look. "Nothing much else. He said it wasn't his place to say. I asked him why you were afraid of elevators, though." 

He instantly regretted even bringing it up.

Bucky's face had completely drained of colour, and there was an iciness to his eyes that Steve didn't think he had ever seen before. It was like he was looking at a different person.

"You tried to get him to tell you about the Red Room?"

Steve furrowed his brow. "What the hell's the Red Room?"

Bucky's expression was carefully blank. "Steve," he said slowly, the calm tone of his voice masking a barely concealed rage that was making Steve's blood curdle in his veins, "Did you or did you not try to talk to Jim about the fucking mission in Ukraine?"

"Yeah, I did, because I wanted to know why-"

"So you mean to tell me," Bucky interrupted, voice shaking as he spoke, and shit, he was angry, he was really angry, and Steve realised he had to brace himself for what was about to happen, "that instead of just _asking_ me, if it really bothered you that fucking much, you'd try and wheedle _incredibly_ personal information out of my best friend?"

Steve frowned. The anxiety he'd been feeling was replaced by a flash of anger, because really? He was getting mad? "I had no idea it was that personal! I wasn't trying to be _sneaky_ , Bucky, I just didn't want to upset you! You _never_ talk about your time in the army- it's like there's a 5-year gap in your fucking life, and I just wanted to get a better idea of what happened, that was all!"

Bucky's eyes narrowed, and his entire demeanour had changed into something cold and distant and completely unfamiliar. "Did it not occur to you that I don't talk about it for a reason? Why in the god damn hell would you think you have a right to know something about me that I clearly didn't want to tell you?"

"How was I supposed to know that it was so fucking private?! It's not like you've ever said to me, 'oh, Steve, can we not talk about this please?'. You always just change the subject or pretend like you didn't hear me, so yeah, excuse me if I wanted to actually understand a bit more about your life, because you clearly weren't fucking going to explain any of it."

"Because I wasn't _ready_ to!" Bucky exploded, getting to his feet and causing the entire metal structure of the fire escape to wobble precariously. "I would've told you _eventually!"_

Steve jumped up mere seconds after him. "Then you could've fucking _told_ me that!" He yelled back, the vein in his temple throbbing with frustration. "You could've _said_ so! I'm not a god damn mind reader! Do you have any idea how shitty it feels to be told that you and Natasha have always had a 'special bond', and that you had this entire secret fucking life that you don't talk about, _ever_ , and it's like you're two different fucking people! There's Bucky and then there's the  _Winter_ fucking _Soldier_ , who's some kind of deadly assassin, and who apparently we're not allowed to fucking talk about! I can't date _one_ of you!"

"Fine," Bucky snapped, and there was a crazed expression in his eyes. " _Fine_. You want to know why I'm scared of elevators? I'll fucking tell you why."

Steve winced sharply. "No wait, you don't have to-"

"Oh, _no_ , if you want to know so god damn badly, I'll just _tell_ you, shall I? When we were in Ukraine we was captured by a rogue Nazi science cell that had been active since World War Two. I was the only one of the six who spoke Russian, so they separated me from the rest of the boys to try and get information." His hands had curled into fists and he was trembling, properly trembling, and Steve wasn't sure if he was about to scream or cry. His voice grew gradually louder, and with every word he spoke he seemed to become more out of breath, more panicked, until he was practically yelling. "They chained me to a chair and locked me in a room, a red room, and they kept me in the pitch black for almost three days before they shoved me in an elevator to take me to where the torture started. I don't even have any fucking scars, because it wasn't _that_ kind of torture. Three times a day for _four months_ I had to come up and down in that god damn elevator, every time being thrown back into that same Red Room at the end of it. Do you have any idea what it's like to have someone else inside your head, Steve? Do you know how it feels to have someone prod around in your brain three times a day for _months?_   _Do you?!"_

Steve didn't know what to say other than to stand there in shock, mouth hanging open, a sickening combination of horror and pity bubbling up in his stomach. "Bucky, I-"

"Don't you _dare_ , Steve, don't you _fucking dare._ " Bucky's breath was heaving, and his knuckles were stark white with the force he was exerting on them trying to keep his fists clenched shut. Steve could see small droplets of blood beginning to drip down from his palms. "Did Jim tell you how Natalia and I met? She didn't just save my team, she saved my whole damn mind. If it hadn't been for her I wouldn't even be able to form a coherent _sentence_. She took a broken corpse of a man and fixed him to the point where he was a _soldier_ again; she was able to turn the Winter Soldier and James Barnes back into _one_ person instead of two, even if I had to fake it sometimes. It took me _years_  to get back to the way I was and I owe that _all_ to her, so don't you ever try and make out that Nat shouldn't be one of the most important people in my life, because she _always_ comes first. _Always_. You're not dating 'one of me', you're dating the _better_ half, and I swear to god Steve you're going to want to keep it that way."

In the silence that followed his outburst, it occurred to Steve that he might've just met the Winter Soldier for the first time.

_We've never fought before._

"Bucky," he managed to say after a few seconds of nothing but the sounds of the traffic below and Bucky's heaving breaths. "I'm sorry… I'm really, _really_ sorry-"

The other man began to fumble in his pocket with shaking fingers and bloody nails, pulling out the crumpled packet of straights and lighting one with a trembling hand. He sank back down onto the step, taking a deep breath as he inhaled the crisp night air.

Steve half expected him to object as he slowly sat down beside him, shaking slightly at the knees with a combination of cold, guilt and anxiety. He chewed on his lip as he watched Bucky's hands, and smeared with blood though they were, he was half tempted to try and take one in his own.

It wasn't long after he'd finished the cigarette that Bucky's trembling turned into full on shaking, and soon enough Bucky let out a heavy, wracking sob. "I haven't had a great day," he eventually croaked out, and Steve's brain went into autopilot as he wrapped his arms around the shivering figure beside him and pulled Bucky tightly against his chest, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to prevent himself from crying through sheer force of will.

"I know," Steve agreed in a hoarse voice. "I know."

"I'm sorry I yelled," came the choked sigh from where Bucky's face was pressed into his shoulder.

Steve felt a sharp pang in his chest. "Don't apologise," he said immediately, giving Bucky's body a tight squeeze. "You were right, I'm sorry. I should've talked to you about it first."

"I exaggerated a little bit," came the muffled voice again, sounding defeated and not at all like Bucky. "It wasn't as horrible as I made it sound. I'll tell you everything one day."

Steve could feel Bucky's warm breath against the skin of his neck and he swallowed tightly, forcing his eyes shut as he blinked back tears. "You're doing the thing again," Steve said hoarsely.

"What thing?"

"The coping thing." He swallowed. "You don't have to be the better half around me, Bucky."

Bucky raised his face out of the crook of Steve's shoulder to stare at him, a confused and incredulous look on his face. A tear spilled out over his cheek and ran down the side of his face. "Okay," he said in a cracked, discordant voice, running his tongue once along his lips in an attempt to make them slightly less dry and chapped. "Okay."

Steve stared into his eyes for a few more seconds, searchingly, before he let out a heavy sigh and leaned forwards, pressing his lips softly to Bucky's forehead. "How's your lip?"

"It's okay. It doesn't hurt that bad."

"You're gonna have one hell of a bruise on your cheek tomorrow."

Bucky grimaced. "I know." He raised a hand to lightly brush his fingers through Steve's hair. "I'm sorry. About just now."

Steve fought back the urge to smile and tell Bucky he was being sappy, because this didn't seem like the appropriate time to tease him.

"How about we talk about that later?" He murmured instead, brushing one hand soothingly through Bucky's hair.

Bucky sighed, brushing the tears impatiently off his cheeks with one hand and disentangling himself from Steve's arms as he got to his feet. "Yes," he agreed in a much firmer voice. "Wait. No. Actually, wait." He had made as if he was going to re-enter the apartment, but stopped just as he was about to hop back in through the window. "Steve?"

It was incredible, actually, how quickly Bucky had transitioned back into the person Steve recognised. He was no longer the shaking mess that had been screaming at Steve just minutes before; he was no longer the man- the _soldier_ \- that had been through hell and back. He was Bucky Barnes, history teacher at Hazelbrook Grammar School, and he was Just Fine Thank You Very Much.

It was giving Steve a headache.

"Mm?" Steve too got to his feet, blinking rapidly to try and clear his brain. 

"I've changed my mind. I want to pretend like this never happened."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, what?"

Bucky made a small whining noise, and he reached up with one hand to scratch absently at the back of his head. "You heard me. Look, I know you deserve to know and everything, but it's not exactly a romantic story and it's not exactly easy for me to talk about." His hand fell limply back to his side. "So… Can we just forget about it? For now, at least?"

Steve wanted to tell him that he couldn't really just forget about it, and that they really should try and talk to resolve the whole thing, but the pleading tone of his voice and the look of desperation in Bucky's eyes made that seem like the wrong answer to give. He'd been through enough tough shit today. "Yeah," he said instead, taking a step closer. "It's forgotten."

Bucky closed his eyes briefly, and Steve saw his entire face relax for a second in relief. But then his eyes were open and the relief was gone, replaced with a small, wary smile. "Thank you." He clambered back into the apartment, and it only took Steve a few seconds of hesitation before he followed him.

No sooner had he closed the window, grateful to be back inside and finally out of the cold, than there were three brusque knocks at the door.

Bucky, who was already sitting cross-legged on the sofa with his phone in his hands, met his gaze with a raised eyebrow. "Pizza guy?" He suggested, voice sounding slightly hopeful.

"Pizza guy," Steve agreed, heading to open the door.

They didn't speak much at all for the rest of the evening. Although things between them were a little more than uncomfortable at first, by the end of the night they'd found themselves in a mess of tangled limbs on Steve's couch, more one person than two, both pretending to pay attention to the AFHV rerun on the tv and adamantly refusing to address the situation they found themselves in.

When Steve fell asleep that night it was with his head on Bucky's warm chest and with Bucky's fingers weaving gently through his hair. It occurred to him that maybe he'd never find out what really happened during Bucky's time in the army, and the thought bothered him. It really, really did. But he was sure that if he was patient enough, and didn't push him too far, Bucky would eventually tell him. Secrets have a way of always getting out, after all.

He waited until Bucky's breathing had slowed right down, and the fingers in his hair stopped moving, and the rise and fall of Bucky's chest was steady enough to indicate that he was asleep before mumbling, "You know, I love you," against the skin of his neck, feeling his eyes drift shut.

He thought he heard Bucky say something in response, but he couldn't have done. And even if he had, Steve was already too deeply asleep to hear it. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> triggers: coming out, bad parental reaction, family fights, physical and verbal abuse, insults, slurs, semi-graphic description of past torture
> 
> (like i said; dark chapter)


	12. Bad to Better to Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god wow, two whole months for an update. i have officially hit rock bottom and then some; i'm so fucking sorry i don't even know what to say, other than this chapter kind of sucks a bit? i know that kind of seems like it defeats the point of a TWO MONTH HIATUS (god i'm sorry) but i don't know what else to tell you really, other than this is apparently going to be a lot angstier than i had originally intended. but no fear! there will, of course, be a happy ending. eventually.
> 
> anyway, once again, i'm sorry for the wait and i'm sorry for the quality. i'm pretty certain it's all getting a bit out of character now so please tell me if it is just so i know where to draw the line? i really appreciate feedback you guys so please please please let me know what you think- good OR bad. i've left my tumblr in the end notes if you guys wanna follow me or complain or stalk me or whatever floats your boat really
> 
> thanks for sticking with it.
> 
> -cat

Bucky only got about half an hour of sleep that night.

It wasn't that he didn't _try_. The simple fact of the matter was that Bucky was just too stressed to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he saw his mother's face- his father's- Steve's- Sebastian- Henry- Anna- they swam in front of his eyes like a vicious, nightmarish kaleidoscope of disappointment and anger and pain, repeated over and over again like an all-too-familiar torture. And if he couldn't even close his _eyes_ , well, _sleeping_ was damn near impossible.

In fact, he was impressed with the half an hour he'd managed. He was _exhausted_ , and he felt cold and empty inside, and his fingers were twitching out of desperation for a cigarette. Mostly though, aside from sleep, he just needed a god damn drink.

He'd been tempted several times throughout the early hours of the morning to sneak out of Steve's flat and head home, or to a bar, or at least leave the bedroom and watch TV on Steve's couch or something, but he'd ended up deciding to stay put. After all, he didn't want to wake Steve up. That would just be blasphemous, as Steve was attractive in a whole new way when he was sleeping.

Steve's hair was curled in an unruly way across his forehead, which almost never happened when he was awake because Steve was too conscious of it and would always brush it back. There was a softness to the usually sharp line of his jaw, and his eyelids fluttered slightly every time he shifted in his sleep, drawing Bucky's attention to long, thick eyelashes.

Steve really was beautiful Bucky realised, not for the first time, as sunlight began to creep in through the crack in Steve's curtains, illuminating a strip of his blond hair and turning it gold. He was a marble statue, embossed in gold, radiating an impossible warmth out to everyone he came into contact with. No, fuck the statue, he was _Apollo;_ Bucky's own personal god of light. He honestly had no idea how he'd managed to pull him.

Steve had told Bucky he loved him last night. Bucky was one hundred percent sure he wasn't supposed to have heard it, because Steve clearly thought he'd been asleep, but he'd heard it all the same. He had been very tempted to say something back, or to at least acknowledge that he'd been awake, but he changed his mind at the last second. Not that it mattered much, because by then Steve had fallen asleep anyway.

Bucky had never really been in love before. He supposed, technically, he had been once or twice, in the most superficial of ways perhaps but never like this. This wasn't anything like the way he'd once felt about Natasha (in _top_ _secret_ , of course; he'd _never_ admit to it now), or like how he'd felt about that boy in his chemistry and history classes in high school. This was something else; something more stubborn, more definite, and more instant in spite of Bucky's occasional capriciousness and Steve's tendency to provoke it. He didn't get butterflies in his stomach anymore whenever Steve smiled at him, just a steady glowing feeling that sent waves of calm throughout his entire being. Steve just seemed to fit into all of the holes in his life that up until now he'd been trying to fill with other, less important things.

He supposed that was love, but it was hard to tell. Bucky wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel- well, he wouldn't exactly admit it to himself even if he did.

Sometimes it felt like Bucky knew Steve better than Bucky knew _himself,_  as Steve's emotions were usually a lot easier to read (the guy practically wore his heart on his sleeve) but even then the other man still managed to surprise him.

For example, Steve had said last night that he loved him. And yes, he'd been surprised. Bucky hadn't really thought to label his feelings until now, not at all, but Steve had admitted to loving him. Even after their fight the previous evening. Even after Bucky had been a dick and freaked out at him. Even after all that, Steve had let him curl up beside him on the couch and watch reruns of Criminal Minds until the early hours of the morning.

Steve was _way_ too good for him.

This whole thing between him and Steve, this was actually real. It could lead somewhere. It was the longest actual relationship that Bucky had ever really had, but Steve had fallen in love with the man that Bucky had become _very_ good at _pretending_ to be. 

Steve didn't sign up for this shitshow. He didn't deserve it. Bucky didn't deserve _him_. Bucky didn't really deserve anything. The thought made him feel a bit sick.

God, he wanted a drink.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Bucky couldn't decide, Steve's alarm clock finally began to beep obnoxiously from the nightstand, signalling their need to get up and get ready for work.

Steve's eyes had blinked open by the 3rd round of beeping, and before Bucky could really register what was happening Steve was rolling practically on top of him and slamming his fist down onto the alarm clock on the bedside table, which happened to be on Bucky's side.

"Morning," was all Bucky thought to say as Steve's body fell limp on top of him and the other man let out a long, tired sigh. Bucky could feel the other man's heart beating steadily in his chest.

"Mmph," came the grumbled response, and with what seemed to be a tremendous amount of effort Steve dragged himself off of Bucky and back onto his designated side of the bed.

Bucky couldn't help the amused smile that pulled at the corners of his lips as he let his head fall to the side, watching Steve curiously. "I thought you were supposed to be the morning person."

"Apparently we might have to swap roles." Steve yawned, bringing both hands up to rub his eyes. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine," Bucky lied, letting his eyes drift over Steve's bare chest because hell, if he didn't do it then who would? The man's impressive abs deserved appreciation. 

Steve glanced at him through the gaps in his fingers, eyes still slightly puffy from sleep. "You're lying. You look like shit."

Bucky rolled his eyes, flopping his arm over his face and rolling onto his back. "Gee, thanks. That's what everyone dreams of hearing their boyfriend say the morning after a fight."

"I mean that with affection, Buck, but seriously. Did you get _any_ sleep?"

"I got a bit," Bucky sighed, letting the skin of his forearm press darkness into his face. "I'm gonna need a literal metric ton of coffee if I'm gonna make it through the day without passing out in a class, though."

Steve groaned, shifting slightly so he was sitting up against the pillows. "Why didn't you wake me up?!"

"That's a dumbass question and you know it. Why would I have woken you up?"

Steve actually looked a little offended. "Because I could've helped you get some sleep or something. Or we could've just talked."

"It would've been awkward," Bucky half snapped, before wincing when he realised how that sounded. He let his arm drop back to his side, guiltily avoiding Steve's eyes. "No, that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" Steve grumbled back at him, clearly not still quite awake if the dazed look in his usually sharp eyes was anything to go by. It was actually sort of endearing. But no, Bucky wasn't allowed to think like that. It wasn't fair.

"Nothing, I just… I dunno. I needed to think, I guess." Bucky stretched out on the bed, feeling the tension in his back slipping away as he flexed his shoulders. "It's always easier to do that alone. And besides, you were completely exhausted."

Steve ignored that and raised an eyebrow, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. "Are you alright though, Bucky?"

_What do you think?!_

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Please don't ask me that question, I don't want to have to lie to you."

Steve sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. "You're right. I'm sorry." He leaned forwards to press a quick, chaste kiss to Bucky's lips that left him feeling surprisingly more tense. "I'm gonna jump in the shower."

Bucky watched as Steve's mostly naked body skirted around the bed, snatching bits of clothing off the floor as he went and dropping them into the chair beside the door. "You have fun in there," he teased somewhat sarcastically.

"Get dressed." Steve rolled his eyes, but Bucky didn't miss the amused hint in his voice as he disappeared into the bathroom. Seconds later, he heard the water begin to run. 

Bucky sighed to himself, hugging his arms to his chest. The sunlight sneaking through the crack in the curtains was brighter now, illuminating the room and throwing Bucky's tired and aching body into sharp relief. He sighed as he sat up properly, brushing one hand through his mess of dark hair.

He felt like crap.

He should probably get out of bed. 

Ten minutes later he sat at Steve's kitchen table in his underwear and a t-shirt, mug of coffee in his hand, watching his phone as it vibrated on the table. He sighed deeply as he leaned back in the chair, watching Anna's name flicker on and off on his screen as she called him again and again.

Bucky had been officially refusing to answer his phone for just over twelve hours. He now had a grand total of 36 missed calls, 17 voicemails and 44 texts from his various siblings, and he had yet to even unlock his phone. He even had a string of Facebook messages from Natasha; he supposed one of his sisters had called her.

Steve collapsed down in the chair opposite him, already dressed in his suit and tie with a bowl of cereal in his hands, and as Bucky looked up at his face he could see the lines of worry etched into his forehead. His hair was still damp from the shower. 

"You're still not dressed," Steve eventually pointed out, breaking the silence. When they made eye contact, Bucky noticed that the other man was giving him a slightly exasperated smile.

Bucky pushed a second cup of coffee across the table towards him, which Steve accepted with a grateful humming noise.

"Well spotted," Bucky couldn't help but tease, raising his own mug to his lips.

Steve chuckled quietly, shaking his head. He then gestured to Bucky's resolutely-buzzing phone with his spoon. "You gonna answer that?"

"Nah." Bucky took a long swig of the coffee, holding the mug with both hands as he set it back down on the table. 

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. "You sure? They're probably really worried about you."

Bucky crinkled his nose. "I've got Melissa in my first period history class, I'm sure she'll let Henry know I'm alright."

That seemed to satisfy him. The two sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes as Steve ate his cereal, but Bucky broke it before long.

"Hey, is it okay if I borrow one of your shirts? I can't wear the exact same thing I wore yesterday or the kids will pick up on it."

Steve gave him a look like he was being an idiot. "Right, and the split lip and bruised face won't give you away."

Bucky's eyes widened. "Oh shit. You're right."

"It's fine. Your hair's getting long enough that you can probably just cover it up anyway."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Very funny."

"Sorry. But seriously it's fine; we can cover it up with makeup or something."

Bucky frowned. "Makeup, are you serious?"

"You got any better ideas?"

"Not really."

Steve half smiled at that. "Well then."

"Where are you gonna get the makeup from? Don't tell me _that's_ how you get your skin to glow like that."

Steve shrugged. "There's a really nice lady on the floor above who probably wouldn't mind if we borrowed her concealer for a few minutes."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Are you, like, the world's most popular neighbour or what?"

Steve flushed. "Shut up, I just enjoy talking to people."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." Bucky downed the rest of his coffee, standing up and brushing one hand through his messy hair. His phone lay abandoned on the table. "Do you have any preference which shirt I borrow?"

"Not at all; whatever you want's fine."

"Thanks, Steve."

Steve smiled, eyes lingering for a moment on Bucky's lips. His smile turned into a small frown. "The more I look at it... We can't really cover up your lip, Buck. You'll definitely look like you've been punched in the face."

Bucky had already kind of worked that part out. He shrugged. "Hey, it's fine. I'll make up something to tell the kids. We can say I got mugged or something."

Steve gave him a startled look. "What if Natasha makes you call the police and report it?"

Bucky snorted. "I was planning on telling Nat the truth anyway. She probably already knows; I'm pretty sure one of my siblings talked to her." He turned and headed into Steve's room, pulling open the closet doors and picking out one of Steve's button-down shirts at random. He snatched his navy suit from off the back of the chair where it had been abandoned the night before.

"Hey, be quick, we gotta leave in ten minutes if we don't want to be late."

Bucky got dressed in record time before dashing into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He turned on the tap to wet his toothbrush before shoving it in his mouth and calling out to Steve, who he could hear bustling around in the kitchen; "Do you want to drive or shall I?"

"I'll drive; leave your car here, you can come back with me after work and pick it up."

Bucky grimaced as he looked at his reflection in the mirror, rinsing his toothbrush under the tap. His cheek had turned a bizarre colour combination of purple and yellow, and there was definitely no covering up the huge split in his lip that had actually swollen up even more overnight. He had dark, tired circles under his eyes and a very distinct 5 o'clock shadow, courtesy of not having shaved in almost three days. "I look like a mess," he muttered to himself with a resigned sigh, absently dragging one hand down his cheek to feel the extent of his stubble. He came to the conclusion that yes, it was pretty fucking bad.

"You'll look just fine once the bruising's mostly covered up," Steve's voice floated in from the bedroom, and whoops, Bucky hadn't even noticed he was in there. His blond head poked around the bathroom door, and he eyed Bucky with a concerned expression. "Are you okay, Buck?"

Bucky grimaced. "I already told you not to ask me that."

"I know, it's just…" He trailed off, looking faintly uncomfortable.

Bucky eventually took pity on him. He sighed, shaking his head slightly as he made eye contact with Steve in the mirror. "I'm fine. Just a little shocked that after years of self hatred-induced alcoholism and refusal to exercise, my dad can still pack a punch hard enough to plaster a fucking Jackson Pollock painting on my cheek. I kind of have to reassess my world view."

_Might as well make this as light as possible while I'm still able to._

He was too busy glaring at his reflection to notice Steve's wince.

There was a short silence, and then Steve said: "I'm just gonna run upstairs to borrow some concealer or something from Kate, I'll be right back. You think of a plausible cover story for your lip to tell the students, m'kay?"

_My entire life is a total disaster and you can do better._

Bucky rolled his eyes, straightening the lapels on his jacket before absently twisting the cuffs of his (Steve's) shirt. "Whatever you say, _captain_."

Steve snorted. "Don't take the piss."

Bucky chuckled quietly to himself, finally forcing his gaze away from his own tragic reflection and making his way out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. "On second though, you don't need to borrow her makeup. I'm thinking I might just go into school like this."

Steve rolled his eyes. "And why's that?"

"Everyone's gonna notice anyway, it'll just look suspicious if I try and cover it up. I'll just say I was mugged, it's fine. Nobody'll be too bothered about it."

Steve didn't seem convinced. "You sure?"

Bucky shrugged. "Yeah, why not?"

Steve bobbed his head from side to side. He seemed to be deliberating. "Well," he said finally, "Alright, if that's what you wanna do." He picked his bag up off one of the chairs, glancing around the apartment to make sure he had everything. "You got all your shit?"

"Yep," Bucky nodded, "should do." He tried to ignore how painfully civil the entire morning had been, because it wasn't like them at all; it was almost completely void of their usual friendly banter and teasing jabs, and the few attempts Bucky had made had fallen flat and Bucky _hated_ it. But at the same time, he had known that something was eventually bound to change. Nothing stays perfect forever. Something had to give.

When Steve turned away to open the front door, Bucky grabbed at his arm. "Hey, Stevie?"

He turned around again, eyebrows raised questioningly. "Mm?"

Bucky bit down on the inside of his cheek. "I just… I wanted to say, because I didn't yesterday, but I'm not really mad at you."

Steve's expression twitched into a slight frown. Bucky was almost sure he saw a quick spark of irritation in his eyes, but he was sure he'd imagined it as it was gone just as fast as it had arrived. "I'm not mad at you either."

_Fuck, because I'd feel a lot better if you shouted at me._

Bucky shifted a little awkwardly on his feet. "After last night and everything, we didn't really talk, and I-"

"Hey," Steve interrupted somewhat stiffly, moving one hand to lightly cup Bucky's jaw. "We don't have to."

 _The guy I told him about in the story, the soldier that I was, that's not even the guy he fell in love with. But it's_ me _. But it's... Not. Somehow. And he doesn't know that, and I want to tell him, but I can't. I just can't. He won't like what he finds._

 _Maybe that's exactly why I_ should _tell him._

"Are you sure?" Bucky murmured with a slight grimace.

"We don't have to talk about it," Steve repeated, leaning forwards to press a soft kiss to Bucky's mouth. "I promise. It's fine."

_You're a million times too good for me._

Bucky gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Got it."

"We can forget about it."

"Alright." 

"Alright."

 

*

 

Bucky glared fixedly at the wall of the staff room while Natasha applied the finishing touches to the makeup on his cheek. She had decided immediately upon seeing him that he wasn't allowed under any circumstances to walk around with a huge purple bruise on his cheek, as it was 'unprofessional' and 'really bad form, James, Jesus Christ.'

"ты идиот," she muttered as she dabbed on more concealer, "бля дебил. Do you have any _idea_ how worried everyone was? I mean, I understand that you were upset but god fucking _damn_ it, James!" _(Tr: You're an idiot. A fucking moron.)_

"I'm sorry." He was actually kind of relieved to hear that people were worried about him, in a bizarre sadomasochistic way. It was better than hearing nobody gave a shit.

"That's the worst part!" Natasha prodded his cheek a little too hard, and Bucky drew out a sharp breath in pain. "You're _not_ sorry!"

She was kind of right.

"Hey," Steve warned from where he stood leaning against the counter, arms folded. "Take it easy."

"Я просто не могу поверить. Не удалось даже отправить чертов текст." Natasha shook her head with a deep, disappointed sigh and ignoring Steve altogether. _(I just can't believe you. Couldn't even send a fucking text.)_

"Я собирался," Bucky snapped back without taking his gaze off the wall, "Я отвлеклась." _(I was going to. I got distracted.)_

"English please," Steve interrupted with a raised eyebrow.

"We thought you might've done something stupid like drink yourself into a god damn coma, James, we were so _worried!_ Did you know that your brother actually drove to your apartment and nearly had a panic attack when he realised you weren't there?"

Bucky winced at the reference to the drinking, and Natasha just shot him a glare before turning to confront Steve. "And you, you're no better. What, would it have killed you to pick up a phone and call someone to let them know he was okay?"

Bucky glanced up at this, raising an eyebrow at Steve's sheepish expression.

"It… It didn't occur to me, Tasha."

"No. Of course it didn't."

"Hey," Bucky turned his glare on her, "don't do that, it's not his fault."

The redhead rolled her eyes. "You're both as bad as each other." She took a step back, away from Bucky's chair, and narrowed her eyes at his cheek. "Well, it looks better than it did. Try not to sweat too much or touch your face in case it rubs off. Come find me at lunchtime and I'll reapply it."

Bucky frowned, reaching up to prod gently at his cheek. "It won't stay on all day?"

Natasha gave him a strange look. "No, of course not. It's _makeup_ , James, not a mask. You can still see the bruising, but it's not as bad as it was. And your lip is still very much swollen."

"Huh." He got to his feet, brushing his hands down the front of his thighs. "Well, thanks for fixing my face. I should get going, I've got my first class in-"

The sheer force of Natasha's hug was enough to knock most of the air out of Bucky's lungs. She squeezed him tightly, leaving him choking for oxygen.

"Я рад, что ты в порядке," she mumbled into his ear. "Я сожалею о случившемся." _(I'm glad you're alright. And I'm sorry about what happened.)_

"Я ценю это," _(I appreciate it)_ Bucky wheezed back, and seconds later Natasha was pulling away from him.

She held him at arms length, eyes carefully scanning his face, and Bucky could see the burning concern barely masked behind her expression. "Are you alright to teach today?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a smile. "Please. 'Tis but a flesh wound. I've had worse."

Bucky didn't notice Steve's sympathetic expression as Natasha let out a sad little laugh, leaning forwards to press a kiss to Bucky's un-bruised cheek. "I know, мой лепесток." _(My petal)_

Bucky gave her one last reassuring smile before turning away, picking up his suit jacket from where he'd left it hanging on the back of a chair and draping it over his arm.

"I'll walk with you," Steve said as he pushed himself away from the counter, his hands falling into the pockets of his trousers.

"I don't need a babysitter," Bucky tried to insist, but Steve just rolled his eyes, pushing the door open and waiting for him to leave first.

Bucky turned helplessly to Natasha.

"Don't look at me, shithead," she shook her head, "If it was up to me you would definitely have a babysitter."

 _Traitor_.

He huffed irritably, draping his jacket over his arm and stalking past Steve out into the corridor.

He heard Natasha's voice call out after him, "And _shave_ when you get home, you look like a homeless person!"

Bucky pointedly ignored her, and thankfully Steve pretended not to notice.

The pair walked side by side through the busy hallway towards Bucky's classroom. 

"In all honesty," Steve interrupted Bucky's brooding silence as they turned the corner past the library, "There were a couple of times in that conversation where I seriously thought she was going to kill both of us."

Bucky smirked. "She's probably on the phone to one of my sisters as we speak, trying to sort out a contingency plan for my murder."

Steve grinned, shaking his head as he knocked his shoulder amiably against Bucky's. "Maybe you should lay low for a bit, huh?"

"I wish," Bucky chuckled, stopping outside his door and turning to face Steve properly. "But I can't exactly afford the Witness Protection Programme, especially not if my only point of argument is 'my friend's trying to kill me for not texting her back'."

"Fair enough," Steve agreed. He offered Bucky a slight smile, just a small quirk of the lips, reaching out to absently brush something off the collar of the shirt Bucky was wearing. "Have a good day, Buck. I'll see you after work."

 _Stop being so_ nice _to me,_  he wanted to yell, but he didn't.

Instead, he spoke; "You too." Bucky offered him the same half-smile in return before opening his door with the back of his elbow and pushing inside.

His class was already there, chatting loudly away as per usual, but the voices quietened a little as Bucky dropped his bag down beside his desk and collapsed into his wheely chair, crossing his arms.

"I'll just wait until you're finished then," he announced loudly and somewhat sarcastically, and within a matter of seconds the talking had hushed and he had twenty three pairs of eyes fixed on him.

"Thank you. Well, good morning everyone, and today we're going to be starting our new topic: The Vietnam War."

Bucky managed to get about twenty minutes into his lecture before the inevitable happened.

"Sir," came Wade Wilson's uncertain voice as he leant over his desk to peer hard at Bucky, "What happened to your face?" 

Almost immediately, the girl next to him slapped him on the arm.

"Ow, Gwen!"

"It's none of our business," she hissed, shooting Wade a glare. "Shut up!"

"But he's got a _black eye!"_

"Are you in Fight Club, Sarge?"

"How does the other guy look?"

Bucky had already decided that he was going to ignore them. His gaze swept across the rest of the class and halted for a moment on Melissa, sitting in the back row beside Annie as usual. She had her hands clasped together in front of her mouth, and there was something heartbreaking about the way she looked at him; something that resembled pity.

Bucky felt a bit sick.

He cleared his throat, turning back to the smart board and resuming the lesson.

It wasn't even five minutes before Bucky heard muttering from the students behind him. He sighed, turning around. "Look, I don't know if you haven't noticed but I'm not exactly in a charitable mood today, Mr Wilson-"

"Sir," Peter interrupted from Wade's left, "I think Melissa needs to go outside."

The whole class spun in their seats to face the girl in question. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and despite being at the opposite end of the room Bucky could make out the tears swimming in her eyes.

Beside her, Annie was gently pressing on her arm, concern written across her face. "Mel," she was murmuring, "C'mon, Mel, what's going on?"

Bucky frowned, quickly locking his computer before weaving between the scattered desks of the students. "If all of you could read through the sheets without my help and highlight what you think is important, that would be great," he announced loudly to the whole class, stopping as he reached Melissa's desk.

"Hey," he said in a low voice, crouching down to look her in the eye. "Do you need to take some time out?"

She nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks.

Annie looked confused and overwhelmed at the whole situation, but in true best-friend style she piped up with, "Should I go with her?"

Bucky gave Melissa a questioning look, but the girl just shook her head. "I'm okay," she mumbled as she got to her feet, snatching up her bag from the floor beside her desk. "I just… I'm sorry. I'm fine. I'll see you later, Annie."

Annie looked helplessly over at Bucky, who straightened up as Melissa strode past him and out the door.

"I'll be right back, behave yourselves," he warned the rest of the students, jogging back to the front of the room and following Melissa out the door. He had expected her to disappear around a corner or into the bathroom or something but she'd actually stopped right outside the door, arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes filled with tears. "Melissa," Bucky started in a concerned voice, but he didn't get to finish.

"How can you just sit there?" She demanded angrily, choking back a sob.

Bucky stared at her, brow furrowing in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"How can you just _sit_ there and let them make fun of you?!"

"I don't-"

"Your _face!_ That wasn't a Fight Club, or a mugging, it was- it was _abuse_ , and you're just letting them take the _fricking_ _piss_ -"

"Hold on," Bucky interrupted, shock coarsing through him like he'd been slapped, "Melissa, I think you should calm down before you-"

"They have _no idea_ what you went through yesterday and you're just… You're gonna let them think…" Her aggressive stance crumbled and her arms fell limply to her sides, tears staining the collar of her shirt. 

Bucky had absolutely no idea what to do. He'd killed people, and saved a few more, and once or twice he'd even done a drug or two, but he had absolutely no idea how to handle a crying teenage girl.

"Hey," he said gently after a few agonising seconds, reaching out and carefully putting a hand on her shoulder. "Don't _cry_ over that, Melissa, it would be inappropriate for them to know about it. I mean, really, _you_ shouldn't even know about it." When she didn't respond, Bucky continued with a sigh, "I understand you're upset, but I'm a grownup, and I'm your teacher, and you really don't need to be so invested. The point is, although you're dating my brother I'm still your _teacher_ before anything else, and what happened last night- you shouldn't have had to go through that."

"Neither should _you!"_ Melissa practically yelled, and Bucky winced as he thought about the teachers in the nearby classrooms that could've potentially heard that.

"I know you're emotional right now but you really can't shout in these hallways, the walls are thin as _cardboard_ ," Bucky hissed, giving her a pleading look. "Melissa- _Mel_ , _look_ at me."

The shaking girl in front of him looked up, and for a brief moment the defiance in her eyes dissipated to reveal something like vulnerability. He wanted to hug her, but he wasn't actually sure if he was allowed to hug students. At his last school there had been several run-ins with the law because of teachers pulling shit like that; he kind of wanted to avoid it whenever possible.

Bucky sighed deeply, rubbing his face with one hand and itching at where stubble was slowly turning into a full-on beard. "What's really getting to you, huh? Because I can tell it's not what Wade said."

Melissa took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, before responding in a strangled voice, "I didn't even think you were going to come in today. Your family was really worried about you- I mean, um, your siblings at least. After you left, everyone else kind of did too. I think Sebastian even went to your apartment, but you weren't there. They were convinced something'd happened, or..."

And there it is.

Bucky only closed his eyes for a second, but it felt like months. When he opened them again he realised that Natasha had been right. It was downright shitty of him not to call.

"I'm sorry," he apologised, and it actually sounded sincere this time. "I really am." _I didn't think anyone actually cared all that much; does that make me a shitty brother or what?_

"How come you even came into work today? I really didn't think you'd show. Henry made me promise to let him know…" She waved her phone about slightly in her hand. "I texted him already, by the way. Sorry."

Bucky shrugged slightly. "It's fine. And I came in because I get paid to be here and it's better than sitting at home doing nothing."

"That's… Okay, fair enough."

Bucky's lips quirked into a small smile. "Look, Melissa, if you need to go take a break or something in the library I totally understand. I can drop Mr Barton an email to let him know you have permission."

Melissa stared back at him, sadness in her eyes. "Don't you get to take a break too?"

Bucky gave her a sympathetic smile. "Adults don't catch breaks like that, kiddo. Besides, I'm getting paid to be here, remember?"

There was a brief silence, and then; "Thanks, Mr Barnes."

"Any time."

 

*

 

Bucky may (or may not) have lied to Steve.

After work, he had only been at Steve's place for about half an hour before he got an 'urgent' text from Natasha, about which he had adamantly refused to disclose any and all information. He'd collected his stuff and left in a hurry, leaving Steve alone with an excessive amount of Chinese takeout and the DVD box set of Friends.

What he didn't mention was that the urgent text from Natasha was just a reminder to check his emails, as a student of hers had copied him in on something, and that he was really just using it as an excuse to get out of there.

Being within ten feet of Steve was beginning to torture him. The private smiles, the gentle brushing together of hands, the careful edging around a subject that Bucky knew damn well was on the front of Steve's mind just as much as it was on his. Steve was being  _nice_ to him, and frankly it was disarming. Even after Bucky had completely freaked out and screamed at him, he was being nice. Not frustrated, or antsy, or anything else, just… Nice. _Painfully_ nice. And Bucky wasn't used to that, especially when he knew he didn't deserve it, so he couldn't help but wait for the catch.

I love you, but.

I forgive you, but.

We don't have to talk about it, but.

But what if there wasn't a 'but'? What if he actually _was_ just that nice?

That would be even worse.

If that was the case, Bucky sure as fuck didn't deserve it. Hell, he didn't deserve Steve anyway. He didn't deserve anything. It was honestly a wonder he even had friends at this point, because he knew that if any of them (sans Natasha, probably) knew the things he had done- the things he'd been forced to do- they would never speak to him again. And Steve _definitely_ wouldn't be so nice.

Which was why he ended up sitting alone in a bar somewhere in the outskirts of Manhattan on a Wednesday, feeling like total shit, and asking the bartender to just pass him the entire bottle of Jack Daniels because he'd end up finishing a whole one anyway.

The girl had given him a sympathetic look. "Rough day?"

Bucky had furrowed his eyebrows, glaring slightly at the currently empty glass in front of him as he absently fiddled with it. "You could say that, I guess. I turned thirty."

He'd been sure to text Natasha, of course; making sure that she'd have his back if Steve texted her asking if everything was okay.

 **_James:_ ** _may or may not need u to cover for me._

 **_Nat:_ ** _oh god. what have you done?_

 **_James:_ ** _nthng, just i needed some space and i told steve u had an emergency and i needed to come over right away so if he asks thats 1000% where i am rn and not at all getting shitfaced alone in a skeevy bar in manhattan._

_**Nat:** is that really the right way to deal with your problems?_

_**James:** probs not._

_**Nat:** you're going to have to come to terms with your shit sooner or later, you know_

_**James:** i'm banking on later. (y) thanks for ur help._

_**Nat** : I never agreed to anything!_

_**James:** thanks._

_**Nat:** you owe me._

Natasha was a great friend, and although Bucky would probably never tell her that to her face in fear of overly inflating her ego it was really true. She was one of the only people who had never managed to let him down spectacularly in a humiliating and semi-public fashion.

He sat at the bar, alone and unmoving, for the better part of two hours. He finished off an entire bottle of Jack Daniels by himself, and his entire body was beginning to feel pleasantly numb. He hadn't really realised just how badly he'd needed to get drunk. ' _Drink to forget' as they say_ , he thought to himself somewhat bitterly as he snatched an olive out of the little jar in front of him.

But, obviously, it wasn't such an easy thing to forget.

He wasn't quite sure what possessed him to pick up his phone and dial his brother's number (from memory, of course, because you never know when you could need that) and press the ringing phone to his ear, but he had done it before he was even fully aware of what he was doing. In all honesty, it was probably the alcohol. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to talk to him about, but… He just wanted to talk to him. To someone who'd been there.

And he felt kind of bad for shoving Sebastian into a wall.

His brother picked up on the second ring.

"James," Sebastian said immediately before Bucky could get a word in edgeways, "are you alright?" He sounded concerned but calm, and Bucky found himself sighing deeply, pressing a finger to the temple of his throbbing head.

"I'm a bit drunk," he admitted, "but otherwise fine."

"I'm… Kind of surprised to hear from you."

"I'm kind of surprised I called."

His brother's tone was wary. "Why did you?"

"I just… I wanted to talk, I think."

"About what happened?"

Bucky wasn't actually sure. He made a non-committal noise down the phone. "Maybe."

"Are you by yourself?"

"Yeah."

"Where?"

"Erm… A bar somewhere. Manhattan."

He could hear the surprise in Sebastian's voice when he next spoke. "You drove to Manhattan?"

"I like the city," Bucky explained matter-of-factly.

Sebastian's sigh was loud enough that Bucky could've sworn the man was standing right next to him. "You know, I could use a drink too. Which bar are you at?"

"Dive 75, I think it's called. It says that on the sign."

Another sigh. "Well don't move. I'll meet you there in half an hour."

"You're coming?"

"Yeah, Jimmy, I'm coming. Hold tight." The phone went dead.

Bucky stared blankly at the phone for a few seconds before letting it drop onto the table. He glanced up at the bartender, engaged in a heated conversation with some kid at the other end of the bar, and shrugged slightly to himself before reaching around the bar and grabbing another bottle of whiskey. If he was gonna be here for a while, he might as well make the most of it.

By the time Sebastian actually arrived, Bucky had already finished half of the second bottle and the bartender had decided to cut him off. He raised his diet coke to his brother in greeting when he saw him walk through the door, hands shaking slightly, and called out to him, " _Seb!"_

"Oh Jesus," was the first thing Sebastian said to him, giving him a quick once-over before eyeing his face with a grimace. "Jimmy, bro. You look like shit."

"Nice to know," Bucky agreed, "I've had a _shit_ couple of days."

Sebastian winced as he slid into the barstool next to him. "Right."

Neither of them spoke to each other as Sebastian ordered a drink, and Bucky was almost certain that his brother was trying to think of something to say to try and break the ice.

Eventually, that something came.

"James, I… Alright, don't get all weird and cagey, but I gotta say this. I'm so, _so_ sorry."

Bucky ran his thumb around the edge of his glass. "What for?"

"Everything, man; everything. What happened yesterday. That… It wasn't okay. It was really fucked up of Dad and Ma to behave like that, like _really_ fucked up. All of us are on your side, you know. We're… We support you. With everything. Anything. Always."

Bucky could feel Sebastian's eyes on him, but he refused to look up and meet them. "I'm sorry I pushed you into a wall."

"No hard feelings, brother."

"And I'm sorry-"

His brother barked out a harsh laugh, interrupting him. "Don't you even _dare_  try and apologise for anything other than shoving me into a wall- which was uncalled for, by the way, but nothing else that happened was your fault."

Bucky ignored him and carried on. "I'm sorry I ruined dinner."

Sebastian sighed with exasperation. "James-"

"I'm _really_ sorry I forced you guys to take sides."

Sebastian's brows were furrowed with concern. "James," he said again, tone much more serious, "Stop."

"Oh, and I'm sorry I lied to all of you. About Steve. That's his name, by the way. My boyfriend. It's Steve. I might've said that yesterday actually."

"James."

"I'm also sorry I didn't call you. Did I say that already? I don't think I did. I'm sorry that I'm a shitty brother and I didn't call anyone to let them know I was okay. It was selfish and stupid and I made all of you worry and I should've called."

Sebastian had finally stopped interrupting, and now he just watched Bucky was a horrible expression, a pitying and sympathetic and deeply concerned expression, and Bucky fought the urge to crush him in a hug and rip that look off his face at the same time. But he didn't. Instead, he kept going.

"I slept like shit last night. After I left you guys I went to Steve's house and we had a fight. He wanted to know about stuff I couldn't talk about and I got angry and I lost it. Like, I _really_ lost it but he forgave me. He's a good guy, Steve is; I think you'd like him. He's too good for me, Seb, _way_ too good for me. Part of me just wants to let him go now before he realises it himself."

Sebastian was frowning now. "James, come on, that's ridiculous."

"Is it? Because it seems pretty reasonable to me. He wanted to know about the military, Seb, and I just can't talk about that. I _can't_. I don't want to. But if I stay with him, I know that one day I will, and he won't stay with me once I do. I _know_ he won't."

His brother's voice was gentle. "You _don't_ know that."

At this point Bucky didn't even care that he was dumping all of his nonsensical shit like this on his older brother; he was tired and drunk and sad and inexplicably lonely, and he wouldn't admit that he was in love, but he was in love. And there wasn't a cell in his body that deserved to be. And he wasn't stupid. He knew it was better to destroy the things you love before they destroyed you.

"I do."

There was a hand on his shoulder. "You want my advice?"

Bucky sighed, head dropping forwards.

Sebastian plowed on. "You seem to really care about this guy. And you've been together for a while now, right?"

"Guess so."

"Right. To me, it looks like you're just having a shitty week and overthinking all of this."

Bucky groaned. "I'm _not_ overthinking it; he's way out of my league and I'm only just beginning to see it-"

"No, you're just having a bit of a confidence crisis. Which is fine, by the way, until you start taking it out on people that care about you." Sebastian gave him a meaningful look. "Jimmy, trust me, you don't want to break up with this guy."

"You didn't even know I was seeing anyone until yesterday," Bucky pointed out sourly, "What the fuck makes you think you know enough about this to give me advice?"

"Because I _know_ you, little brother. I mean, look at you; you're coming to me for relationship advice. _Me_. And I can see that you're miserable, and I can also see that you care about this Steve person. A lot. It took a lot of courage to say what you said yesterday, and I don't think you would've done it if you weren't serious about him."

Bucky gave him a look. "You don't know that," he snapped, but there was no real venom in his words.

Sebastian sighed, repeating Bucky's own words from earlier as he leaned back on the barstool. "I do."

There was another silence, but this one was a lot less tense than the last.

"Have you guys talked about it?"

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Who? Talked about what?"

"All of you. About… Me."

His brother reached out and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Like I said before, Jimmy. You're our brother, and we love you, and you can always come to any of us. We got your back."

Bucky groaned loudly, letting his head slam down on the table with a loud thud. This whole thing was ridiculous; all of it. He was thirty years old- _officially_ , as of yesterday, thirty years old- and he felt like he was reliving someone else's high school years. Not his own, of course, because he'd been straight and fat when he was in high school. But someone else's high school experience had to be pretty similar to these last couple of days, he was sure of it.

The money he would pay to just go back in time and-

No, actually, he wouldn't. He was glad he'd told them; really, he was.

(He wasn't.)

But he'd had to, and he knew that. It was going to come out eventually, there was nothing he could've done about that, and all he did was speed the process along a little bit.

You can't hide forever.

He was broken out of his self-pity after god knows how long by a firm tap on the shoulder. "Alright, kiddo, let's get you out of here. You've got work in the morning."

Bucky made a face as he sat up. "Shit. It's only Thursday."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, collecting up his jacket and keys and sliding off his barstool. "Come on; I'm driving you home."

"But my car-"

"Will still be here tomorrow if you want to come and get it," his brother finished smoothly for him, giving Bucky's arm a slight pull. "Jimmy."

Bucky groaned as he stood up, feeling all the alcohol in his system rush to his head at once. He felt pleasantly dizzy. "Hey Seb?"

"Mm."

"How'm I gonna get into work tomorrow if my car's in Manhattan?"

His brother sighed, shaking his head slightly. "You can get the bus."

"I can't get on the bus in my work clothes. I'll be attacked." He dragged a hand down his face in an attempt to brush his hair out of his eyes. "Take me to Nat's."

Sebastian gave him an odd look. "Why Nat's?"

"Because that's where I told Stevie I was going in the first place. Makes sense."

Another look. "Are you hiding from him on purpose?"

"I was supposed to be at his tonight but I bailed because I panicked couldn't handle how nice he is to me and I don't deserve him."

"…I'm taking you to his place."

Bucky's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Nonononono!" He half yelped as Sebastian grabbed his arm and began tugging him towards the door. "NoSebpleaseyoucan't-"

"To be honest, bro, I can pretty much do whatever I want right now. You're not exactly sober."

Bucky gave him his best puppy face- or what, in his drunken state, he _hoped_ was his best puppy face. " _Please_ don't do that, I want to see Nat, I have to talk to Nat-"

"What you _have_ to do is sort out your weird self-destructive tendencies," Sebastian grumbled as he managed to pull Bucky bodily out of the door, waving a thanks to the bartender, and jerking Bucky towards his car. "Alright fine, I'll take you to Natalia's, but I don't want you to call me at midnight tomorrow telling me all about how you fucked up the only good thing in your life."

Bucky shot him an affronted glare, "Steve's _not_ the only good thing in my life, I have my job and my friends and-"

"If he doesn't mean more to you than any of that, why are you more upset about your stupid little fight with him than you are about what happened with Ma and Dad? Because I gotta say, little brother, that was a fucking big deal," Sebastian snapped back as unlocked his Prius and shoved Bucky into the passenger seat, slamming the door closed behind him.

There was a throbbing silence that lasted a few long seconds as Sebastian made his way around to the driver's side, and Bucky could practically hear the pounding in his head. Within seconds however there was the sound of a door opening, and even though at this point in his drunken stupor Bucky had tunnel vision he was able to see Sebastian slip the key into the ignition out of the corner of his eye.

"Don't push away the people that are important to you, Jimmy," his brother said quietly as they pulled away from the curb and followed the signs to Brooklyn. "Not when you've already had to deal with so much. Sometimes you just can't afford to lose anything else."

"I pushed Ma and Dad away," Bucky said softly, eyes fixed on the damp road in front of them.

Sebastian sighed. "Maybe."

Neither of them said a word for the rest of the drive.

 

*

 

Bucky was a mess by the time Sebastian dropped him at Natasha's doorstep. He wasn't entirely sure when it had started but after about half an hour in the car he'd realised he was crying, and he hadn't yet been able to stop. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and he stank of whiskey and stale cigarette smoke and pine trees because his brother had one of those weird air fresheners in his car. His clothes were crumpled and messy and his straggly hair looked like it had taken an actual beating from the number of times he'd ran his hands through it. Sebastian had let him out of the car with strict instructions to call him in the morning, and waited until Bucky knocked on Natasha's door before giving him a wave and driving away.

Natasha, it seemed, was a psychic. She opened the door with an appropriately sympathetic expression holding out a hand to steady Bucky's shoulder. "Oh, honey. Come on, let's get you inside."

Bucky shuffled past her, hanging his head in shame. "'M sorry, Nat."

"Don't be sorry," she sighed as she clicked the door shut, moving to wrap an arm around his shoulders and guiding him to the couch. "Here, sit down and get comfortable. I'm going to get you a glass of water and an aspirin and then we can talk it out." She brushed her fingers soothingly through his hair for a second before giving him a light tap on the top of the head and heading into the kitchen, leaving him alone. Bucky noticed she was in her pajamas.

Before he knew it she was back, pressing a glass into one hand and three little pills into his other. "Here, take these."

He mumbled a thank you, dropping the pills into his mouth and swallowing them down with water. He tried rubbing discreetly at his still-wet eyes with the back of his hand.

Natasha produced a tissue out of nowhere and silently held it out to him, chewing on her lip.

Bucky accepted it with a slight nod, closing his eyes briefly. "Sorry," he said again, voice hoarse, and it seemed like his mouth was separate from the rest of his body because he definitely wasn't saying anything on purpose right now. "I'm a fuckup, Nat. Bad stuff keeps happening and it's because of me. Why does everything have to be so, so- _fucked_."

"Speaking of, you're pretty fucked right now," Natasha pointed out with a slight bite to her words, but not nearly enough for Bucky to take offence. She had a tendency to not sugar coat things, and Bucky admired that about her. He _loved_ that about her. That was part of why he'd wanted to come here. 

"I know," he sighed, letting his head drop into his hands. "Oh _god_  I have work tomorrow-"

"Don't worry about that," Natasha told him as she collapsed down onto the couch next to him, curling up against his side like a cat. "I can take care of it."

"I have to go in."

"Your parents just disowned you, you don't have to do anything."

Bucky whined, pressing his fingers hard against his temples. "I made them hate me."

"It isn't your fault."

"I made Steve hate me."

"Steve doesn't hate you."

"He will," Bucky half sobbed, turned to face Natasha and burying his face into her shoulder. "As soon as he finds out about Ukraine and he realises what a terrible person-"

"None of that was your fault either," Natasha interrupted sternly, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and hugging him to her chest.

Bucky crumpled against her, heart racing, breathing in the familiar smell of shampoo and coconut moisturiser. "Yes it was. You know it was."

"You didn't ask to be captured."

"I asked to be put on the force."

"They let you believe you had a choice."

"I _did_ have a choice," Bucky snapped without meaning to, "I always had a choice, and I chose to become who I was."

"And you chose to become who you are now, as well. You chose to get better."

"You helped me."

"And I can help you again."

Bucky let out a deep, ragged sigh. "Do you ever miss it?"

Natasha rolled her eyes- Bucky didn't have to see it to know she was doing it. "Do I ever miss pretending to be someone I'm not? Do I miss the constant threat of death and-or torture? Do I miss the lies and the secrets and the 'sorry, it's classified's? Having to betray people I befriended? Having to deal with the fucking nightmare that is Russian ballerinas?"

"Yes."

Natasha sighed. "Every day."

They sat in silence for a few moments, with Natasha's hand absently stroking through Bucky's hair, which was now long enough for her to properly thread her fingers through it. He couldn't help but curl up against her, leaning into the warmth and familiar contours of her body, and he found himself feeling oddly at home.

"Do you think I should tell him?" He said quietly, giving a light tug on one of Natasha's red curls.

"I think you should do whatever it is that would take your mind off it," she replied quite unhelpfully. "If that's lie to him, or tell the truth, or scare him away or drag him closer it's up to you. Just… Do what'll make you happy, James. In the long run."

"And if I'm not sure what that is?"

Nat smoothed out his hair and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "There's no pressure. Take your time to figure it out."

"I'm in love with him."

The corners of her lips quirked upward in a smile. "I know."

"You know?"

"Of course."

Bucky frowned slightly. "How? Because I didn't even know until this morning."

"Because you're more concerned about what _he_ thinks of you right now than you are about what your parents think about you," Natasha shrugged. "You're putting him first. And that, my dear boy, is love."

 _Sebastian said the same thing._ Instead of feeling relieved, or absolved, or whatever it was he was supposed to feel Bucky felt a bit sick. He was putting Steve, a boyfriend- a great one but a boyfriend nonetheless- ahead of his family. His own flesh and blood had turned against him and he was worrying… Worrying about some _guy_.

He was disgusted with himself.

As though she could read his mind, Natasha murmured, "Sometimes we get the chance to choose our family, James."

He sighed deeply. "Not where we come from."

She offered him another small smile. "Even more so where we come from. We're family, aren't we? Me and you and Clint?"

"Clint's a friend. A great friend, but a friend. And you and me- well, we're siblings right?" He half teased in an attempt to lighten the mood a little bit.

Natasha snorted. "Natalia and Zima Romanova; musical extrordinares."

"I can't believe that cover worked."

"It didn't just _work_ , James. We were _famous_." 

" _You_ were famous." 

"Your playing was the best in the country."

"And your pretty face was plastered over every newspaper right of the Iron Curtain," Bucky teased.

"Oh god, don't remind me. Remember that god awful tutu I had to wear-"

"Hey, it's your fault you decided _ballet_ was a good cover." 

"I panicked!"

"Your fault."

Natasha's house phone let out a shrill ring, causing Bucky to jump and Natasha to jerk slightly. Upon realising it was the phone, both visibly relaxed.

"I don't have to get that."

"I can handle being ignored for five minutes, Nat, I'm not a child."

His friend rolled her eyes as she disentangled herself from his arms and went over to pick up the phone. "Hello?… Oh, hi Steve."

Bucky froze. Natasha gave him a slight wince.

"Sorry, what? Yeah, James is here. He's okay, I guess. No, really, he's fine. Just a little overwhelmed right now. Oh, uh…" She looked up at Bucky again, giving a panicked gesture to the phone.

Bucky's eyes widened and he shook his head violently.

"You can't right now, sorry, he's in the shower." She gave him an apologetic look at the incredulous glare he gave her, because _really?_ That was probably the _worst lie_ he'd ever heard in his life. "Yeah, I'll tell him you called. Alright. No problem. Bye." She dropped the handset back into the receiver, and just to be safe Bucky waited for a few seconds before screeching, 

_"What did he say to you?!"_

"He just wanted to know if you were alright," Natasha rolled her eyes, "Don't be such a teenage girl about it; Jesus."

"Did he sound mad?"

"He sounded worried."

"He could probably tell that I lied to him," Bucky said mournfully, draping himself dramatically over the arm of the couch and staring woefully at Natasha from upside-down. "He's such a good guy, Nat, and I… I  _love_ him, but I don't- I _can't_ -"

"I get it," she interrupted as she went to sit down next to him. "I do, James. I've been there. But you gotta know that you deserve this. You _deserve_ him. You deserve someone _as good_ as him. You're perfect for each other."

"He's perfect _full stop_."

"Putting him on a pedestal isn't healthy, you know."

"And any aspect of my lifestyle is?"

She sighed, folding her arms and shaking her head slightly. " _James_. At the end of the day, it's your decision, but I promise that you'll regret it if you push him away."

"I regret letting him get close to me in the first place."

She actually winced. "You don't mean that."

"I do. I'm toxic. Have you noticed how many shit things happen to me? It's just a matter of time before I do something stupid and blow this whole thing, and then I'm left feeling worse off than I would have if I just hadn't gotten involved in the first place."

"Well it's a bit late to be thinking like that now, isn't it?"

He let out an exasperated sigh. "I dunno, _maybe_."

Natasha scoffed. "'Maybe', he says. Well, _maybe_  you should've thought of that before you fell in love with him. Before _he_ fell in love with _you_."

Bucky shot her a glare. "Better late than never," he half mocked in a singsong voice, causing Natasha to let out a high-pitched noise of indignation and slap him on the arm.

"Don't treat this as a joke, James. Steve really, really cares about you."

"I _know_ ," Bucky groaned, clapping his hands over his face, "that's what I _hate_ so much, he has to put up with all… All of _this!"_

"Oh right, so it's a self-confidence issue."

Bucky glared at her. "You're fuckin' hilarious, you are."

Natasha arched an eyebrow. "Who says I was kidding?"

"Fuck you."

"Fine; you can sleep on the floor."

Bucky smiled slightly at that, curling his knees into his chest and squishing himself further into the corner of the couch. "Look, it's not a self-image thing. No really, don't look at me like that, it's not. I just… I mean, with me at my _best_ , he can do a lot better. And these last couple of days I've started to realise that."

"So what, you're trying to save him from you, is that it?"

"You know, this is hard enough _without_ you taking the piss out of me."

"Taking the- I'm _not_ taking the piss, James, you're being completely ridiculous and I want to fucking slap you."

" _Nat_."

The look on his face must've translated what he was thinking, because Natasha was blessedly quiet about it after that, only letting out a heavy sigh and letting her head drop onto his shoulder.

"You should get some sleep. Let the alcohol wear off."

Bucky sighed, and now that it was mentioned he was _exhausted_. He was finding it hard to keep his eyelids open and his head was still spinning pleasantly from the whiskey. When he spoke, his own voice sounded far-away and distant, like he was listening to somebody else's words. "I'm not even that drunk anymore."

He heard Natasha chuckle as his eyelids fluttered shut.

"You liar."

 

*

 

The two weeks leading up to Valentines Day were a bit of a blur. Steve found himself under a shitload of pressure from Fury to finish negotiations for the new gym, he was a month behind on Game of Thrones and half term reports were being sent out in just under a week.  

But what was by far the worst was that things between him and Bucky were practically falling apart. They hadn't had sex since the night of their fight- they were hardly _talking_ at this point, and every time Steve made an effort to pull Bucky aside and ask him what's up he'd gotten a rushed excuse and a half-hearted apology and then the other man was gone. It was like he was doing his damnedest to avoid him, and Steve had no idea what he'd actually done to deserve it. And it was kind of killing him, because over the last few weeks Bucky had gone from being handsome and charming to pale and tired and almost gaunt-looking, and although around other people he'd been acting mostly the same Steve could tell that something was up. Something was really up. And Bucky clearly didn't want Steve's help or advice or _anything_. It was beginning to seem like Bucky didn't want Steve, _period_.

But Bucky was an adult, and Steve was busy, and although the entire situation was killing him he was trying not to dwell on it.

"Dude. You're moping again."

Steve blinked up at Sam, who was frowning at him from over the top of his coffee mug. They were sitting opposite each other at the table in the staff room, Steve with a pile of ungraded papers in front of him and Sam with a cup of coffee and two slices of toast.

"Sorry," he mumbled, shaking his head slightly and turning back to the papers he was trying to grade. He'd been slipping in and out of concentration all afternoon, and this wasn't the first or even fourth time Sam had had to shake him out of a stupor.

Sam sighed, rolling his eyes as he set down his mug and reached to snatch the red pen out of Steve's hand. "Alright, buddy, we're gonna talk about this."

"I don't want to talk about it. I'm fine."

"Ah, classic denial."

Steve glared at him. "Don't  _counsel_  me, Sam-"

Sam held up his hands in surrender, leaning back into his chair. "Okay, okay, sorry. But I'm _worried_ about you man, you're not yourself."

Steve let out a deep sigh, resting his head in his hands. "I'm good, I'm just a little stressed out." _Understatement_. 

He might not have been able to see Sam's face, but he could practically _feel_ the concern seeping out of his friend's every pore. "About anything in particular?" He pressed gently, and if it had been anyone but Sam Steve probably would've walked out of the room altogether. As a general rule, he believed that your private life should remain private, and if you were having problems it was best to sort it out between the people it involved. But Sam was different.

"He's still not talking to me," he managed eventually, lifting his face out of his hands to stare melancholily over at Sam. "And it's getting worse. I'm not even sure why."

"Have you tried asking him?"

Steve couldn't help the sarcastic look he shot him. "No, Sam, I haven't. I just figured it was a bit of fun."

"Alright, my bad, I was just checking."

"I'm really worried about him."

"You haven't spoken _at all?"_

Steve sighed, "Not really."

"And you have no idea why he's being so squirrelly? None at all? Did you guys maybe have a fight or something-"

Steve stared at him. "You've been talking to Natasha."

Sam took a bite out of his toast.

"You son of a bitch."

He gestured to his full mouth. "Mmph, chewing-" 

"What did she say to you?!"

Sam mimed pulling a zipper across his mouth.

"I hate you."

"Sorry buddy," Sam gave him an apologetic smile, "I really can't tell you. It's not my business. Though I _can_  tell you that Barnes hasn't been entirely with it these last couple of weeks, even around her. She mentioned a fight with you, and then some kind of family drama, and… Well, that's about all you've got clearance for."

Steve sighed loudly. "I knew all that already."

"Then, my friend, you seemingly know just as little or as much as Natasha wants you to know."

"She really didn't tell you anything else?"

"Nothing that it's my place to pass on. Some things you just gotta find out from the source. And she'd kick my ass if I told you; something about the 'honour of friendship'. She wouldn't even tell me the details of your fight."

"You asked?"

Sam shrugged. "After about a week it seemed pretty clear that you weren't gonna tell me. Barnes kind of treats Tasha like a second brain, whereas I'm more like your… I dunno, the Shane to your Rick."

Steve managed to crack a smile, despite the small twist in his stomach at the detail in the description of Bucky's relationship with Natasha. "You trying to steal my wife, Wilson?"

Sam grinned at him, mouth full of toast. "Not the point. Anyway, I figured you didn't wanna talk about it."

Steve sighed. "Well, you were right."

"Of course I was. Do you wanna talk about it now?"

Steve fiddled with his pen, not looking up at his friend. "Not really."

Sam shrugged. "It's your decision, dude. But can I give you some advice though?"

"Shoot."

"Sort it." Sam leaned forwards, looking at Steve with concern in his eyes. "Sort it out, with Barnes. Because you're acting pretty out of kilter and he seems to have fallen completely off the rails, from what Tasha's told me."

Steve's heart seemed to squeeze tightly, "what do you mean?"

Sam eyed him sympathetically. "Sorry man. Can't say. But you should talk to him, okay?"

Steve nodded, feeling a bit ill. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was really, really wrong- and Bucky _wasn't talking to him_. But there was something wrong, and Steve loved him, and he knew he had to do something.

"I'll fix it." 

 

*

 

It was 6:30pm on a Wednesday, and Bucky was tired. He was always tired. He sat on his couch staring blankly at the dark screen of the off television, one unlit cigarette behind his ear and a half-gone bottle of scotch in one hand. His phone lay in his lap, and the fingers on the other hand drummed absent rhythms onto his knee. He hadn't slept in almost two days, and he was pretty sure the only thing he'd had to eat in that same amount of time had been the yogurt that Natasha had forced on him when she dragged him to lunch the day before. 

He wasn't exactly sure _where_ the existential crisis had come into it, but he knew that it had done, and once it was there there was no going back. Suddenly everything was ten times more difficult, ten times more exhausting, and all Bucky wanted to do from the second he got out of bed in the morning was to collapse back in. He hadn't felt like that in years but it was returning with a vengeance, and he wasn't sure what to do. Ever since the night he'd spent at Natasha's he'd watched himself drive a wedge between himself and Steve, and the worst part about it was that he knew what he was doing was irrational. They'd had a good thing going- technically they still did, as they never formally broke up. But Bucky was worthless and broken and Steve was everything, and the earth could survive without the moon but wouldn't last a second with no sun.

So instead of sending the long text he'd painstakingly written out several days before and never quite had the guts to send, he raised the scotch to his lips and prayed for the day when someone less impossible would fall in love with him. Maybe even a girl that he could take home to his parents, so he would no longer have to be the damaged queer that tore an already fragile family apart.

He knew that wish made him a coward. And after everything he'd gone through, everything he'd ever done, that was what he'd become. It disgusted him. _He_ disgusted him.

Bucky finished his drink, and reached for the next bottle. It was gonna be a long night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> message me on tumblr at [macbeth-no](http://macbeth-no.tumblr.com) if you want to get a hold of me fast for whatever reason, i'll be on there a lot more frequently than i am here :)


	13. Natasha (part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. sorry to disappoint, this is just a tiny chapter to give you an idea of natasha's perspective (unlucky number 13, am i right?). this is part 1 of 2, and with number 2 comes the explanation and the full description of The Breakup. i know it's probably not what most of you guys were hoping for, but i wanted to give you a heads-up to what was coming, an insight into nat's mind, a perspective on the boys that didn't come from the boys themselves, and also to buy myself a bit more time to write the next part because i'm an asshole. anyway, tell me what you think and if you hate it then i know what to avoid next time. and don't worry about the boys; it'll all work out in the end. :)
> 
> thanks for putting up with me dears <3
> 
> -cat

Natasha Romanoff counted the days leading up to (and including) Valentines Day as some of the most difficult she'd ever lived to experience. And she'd once worked undercover as the personal assistant of a leading member of the Russian mafia, so that was really saying something.

Bucky was… wrong. That was the only way to describe it, really. He just wasn't right. After that first night he'd been dropped at her place, crying and drunk and ashamed, he hadn't come to her for help. Not once. Which, considering the situation, Natasha had deemed downright bizarre. She'd sought him out as soon as she heard but he'd pushed her away, which was something he'd never done before, not even when they were both practically children and he discovered that just because they were working for the government didn't mean they were doing what was right. He'd always gone to her for help and advice and it just felt wrong that he wasn't doing that- that he hadn't even _told_ her the moment it all felt to shit, and she'd had to find out through Clint. It was irrational, but Natasha was upset about it. She was upset about a lot of things.

Bucky had bad days before, she knew, but this was more concrete. He was quieter, more solemn, and Natasha frequently caught him staring at a spot on the wall with a slight frown on his face. She'd jab him, concerned, but he always waved her off. Sometimes he checked his watch, as if surprised at how much time had passed. He didn't think Natasha noticed.

He somehow got all his work in on time, but he never had a minute to spare for idle conversation with Darcy anymore, or a phone call with his sisters. He was distant in the staff room in the mornings- so much so that by this point, all the other teachers had noticed and were coming to Natasha and Clint with questions. When Natasha occasionally popped by Bucky's classroom to say hi, he played along for a few minutes but his heart was never in it. Even the students had noticed the difference, and Sam Wilson had had several kids come to him expressing concerns. Bucky had, simply, lost interest. With everything. Anything. And it was _killing_ her.

Technically, she supposed it had all really started on the day her best friend decided to finally come out to his parents, after over a decade of being in the closet. But in her mind, the _real_ problems hadn't started until a week or so after that. And now, quite frankly, there were a _lot_ of problems.

The most recent problem, Natasha thought, was the eating. Bucky simply _wasn't_. She hadn't seen him eat anything in almost three days, and whenever she tried to invite him out for lunch or breakfast or dinner or _anything_ he simply declined and said he was busy. She knew he was lying, of course, because no one's busy _all_ the time, but whenever anyone tried to call him out on it he just got worse, almost as though he was doing it just to spite you. He'd gotten thinner, more pale and ill-looking, and it was getting impossible for Natasha not to wince or frown whenever she saw him.

The smoking, too, was now a definite and undeniable problem. Bucky had gone from maybe three cigarettes a day to practically two an hour, and Natasha couldn't even stand beside him without getting the smell of smoke all over her clothes and in her hair. It drove Clint in particular mental.

And then there was the problem of the not sleeping- no matter how strongly Bucky denied it, Natasha could tell. She could see the bags under his eyes, the lethargy in his movements, she shaking of his fingers and the way he slumped when he sat, as if his spine was so exhausted it couldn't even hold him upright anymore.

But she was sure that these were a side effect of his sadness- that he would be able to pull himself up soon, get himself back together. Natasha would help him as much as she could, of course, but there was only so much she could do. He would be sad for a while, like before, but it would soon pass.

However, the most pressing problem didn't strike her until the day she'd asked Bucky how he was doing, and he'd looked up at her with an uncharacteristically faded smile and tiredness in his eyes and responded, "Nat, this was inevitable. I'm fine. I'm always fine."

The largest problem, see, was the denial. The complete and utter refusal to believe that any of this could have been prevented- or if not prevented, fixed. It was like he was oblivious to his own self-destruction; watching his world crash around him had made his subconscious believe the only was to survive was to fall with it. He was drowning and trying to pass it off as swimming, and Natasha and Clint and probably even Steve were the life guards he wouldn't let come anywhere near him.

The denial was what was enabling the other problems.

What Natasha suspected was a deep depression was enabling the denial.

She'd known about his problems with major depressive disorder in the past, of course, because she was Natasha and she was his best friend, but by the time they separated years ago he'd been fully functional and completely capable of leading a normal life. He'd been off his medication for over a year, and he'd been fine. Brilliant, actually. He'd even told Natasha once that he'd never been happier. But this… _This_ was by far the worst she'd seen him.

Put together, it all led a trail of breadcrumbs back to the source; a thing that Clint had told her was so vast in content that it could only really be described with capital letters:

The Breakup.

To say that something had flipped a switch in his brain _because_ of The Breakup seemed wrong to Natasha somehow, but it was undeniable that it had been a trigger. Just how great a trigger, she wasn't sure; there was always the chance that Bucky was right, and it really had been inevitable, but there was a nagging voice at the back of her head that just didn't buy that either. Natasha couldn't even bring herself to hate Steve, who seemed equally upset but arguably a lot more stable. It was just as much Bucky's fault as his, and although she tended to be slightly biased towards Bucky's side of things even she couldn't have ignored how awfully he'd handled things after what happened on his birthday. Natasha may be cold sometimes but she was never heartless, and it didn't take much to see that Steve was heartbroken and Bucky had already given up by the time the argument took place. Bucky was a firm believer in destroying something before it destroyed you- he'd made as much clear the last time they'd talked about it- but Natasha never really thought he'd do it. To be honest, she didn't ever think he _could_.

The argument had been vicious and brutal and neither party had emerged victorious. Although it had been Steve who finally called it off, it wasn't Steve's fault, and she knew that. Bucky had certainly had a tough couple of months and it was all beginning to sink in at once, but although this _explained_ his shitty behaviour in the last few weeks it was definitely not an excuse. What was said _during_ the argument that lead to The Breakup was harsh and unforgiving on both sides, but Natasha got the impression that while Steve should've known to be careful with him, Bucky had really, really lost his shit. The man's temper was the stuff of legends, and his brain and his heart were rarely ever on the best of terms. All that combined in a man with a history of depression, PTSD and trust issues, it had been a molotov cocktail for complete disaster.

Natasha, admittedly, hadn't actually been there for the apparently apocalyptic argument. If she had been, maybe she could've done something to calm him down. But that wasn't the case, and the only person that had semi-witnessed the whole thing was Clint. The library was just next door to Bucky's classroom, sharing a wall, and with the replacement battery in his hearing aid Clint had been able to hear the entire fiasco word-for-word, sinking further into his desk chair with every passing second. From what Natasha gathered, he wished he hadn't heard any of it. She could hardly blame him.

It had happened after school hours had ended, about a week or so after Bucky's birthday, and the first Natasha heard about it was when Clint appeared at her doorstep, looking pained and guilty and upset.

"You'll never guess," he started woefully, "what I just had to listen to."

And he had been right; she would never have guessed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual, if you have any comments, complains or anything else you can find me on tumblr at [macbeth-no](http://macbeth-no.tumblr.com). please send me messages guys i'm such a sap for that shit


	14. Natasha (part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okaaay so who wants a bit of OOC everyone for this chapter? lmao sorry this one's even worse than the last, i think maybe i should stop trying to rush my writing. anyways here's Natasha Part 2, complete with The Breakup transcript as told by Clint, and i hope you don't think it's too much. or too little? or too… well, anything really. if nothing else i hope you don't hate it.  
> as always, thanks for sticking with it; i love you guys.
> 
> -cat

"So you heard _everything?"_ Natasha was sitting on her couch- the nice one with the matching cushions- with her legs tucked underneath her and a mug of peppermint tea clutched in both hands. She had already been in her pyjamas when Clint came to knock on her door, and just had time to pull on a hoodie before letting him in.

Clint was sitting beside her, not touching his own cup of tea (Clint hated peppermint; Natasha only insisted on giving it to him every time he came over because she enjoyed being antagonistic) and instead fitting absently with his hearing aid. "Yeah," he sighed after a couple seconds of silence. "Every god damn word."

Natasha stared pointedly at him. "Well? And?"

"It was… God, it was awful, Tasha. I feel like I seriously violated their privacy."

She gave him a sympathetic look. "I get it. On the other hand, though, they know just as well as we do that those walls are thin as shit."

Clint grimaced. "Even still."

Natasha let silence hang in the air for just a second before setting her mug down on the table and turning to face him. "I, um, I don't want to sound nosy, because it's completely their business, but I _am_ James' best friend and-"

Clint let out a snort of laughter, interrupting her. "You want me to tell you everything?"

Natasha couldn't help it; she let out a sigh of relief. "Yes please."

"Alright, well, the good news is school was out already and none of the kids were around to hear Barnes swearing like a god damn sailor."

 

*

 

Clint was sitting at his desk in the otherwise empty library when the faint muttering he could hear started to grow steadily louder. Granted, his hearing wasn't so awesome lately, but the walls in the building really were thin and from the sound of things the conversation was coming from Bucky's room just next door. He was used to being able to hear people's conversations through the walls, but this was different somehow- this sounded like an argument, and it sounded personal.

"…don't understand why you're being such a dick to me!" Clint easily recognised Steve's voice.

"Calm your tits, Rogers, I'm being a dick to everyone." And Barnes'.

"You're doing it again! Bucky, I don't know what's going on with you lately but-"

Clint winced as the conversation upped another few decibels; "You don't?! Seriously? What, Steve, do I gotta spell it out for you?"

" _Bucky-_ "

"You know what, I knew this was gonna happen."

Clint heard a loud snort of what he guessed was Steve's sarcastic laughter. "Oh, you did?"

"Yeah, I fuckin' did."

"And why's that?"

"Because you're- you're _you!"_

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Clint sank a little deeper into his chair, silently begging for them to stop discussing this in such _loud voices god damn it_.

"It means exactly what I said, okay?! You're Steve fucking Rogers and you're perfect and put-together and _not me_ and everyone loves you and I'm _damned_ if I don't hate you for it."

"And do you?"

"Huh?"

"Hate me for it?"

" _Yes!"_

_Oh god let this end._

Steve's voice carried easily through the wall; "What the hell did I do to you to make you resent me?!"

"You just _exist_ , Steve, and trust me that's enough."

"What the _fuck_ is that even supposed to-"

"I just- I can't _deal_ with you, okay? You're too _good_."

"Oh, so you're pulling the whole 'it's not you, it's me' thing, are you?"

"I'm not _pulling_ anything, I'm telling you the god damn truth!"

"Sounds like an excuse to me. Tell me the real reason."

Clint's hands moved to slowly cover his face.

"That _is_ the real reason."

"What, you're cutting me out because I'm too _nice?"_

A loud sigh. "When you say it like _that_ -"

"It sounds ridiculous? Damn right it sounds ridiculous, Bucky, and I need you to give me a better reason than _that_ for why you've been such a _prick_ these last couple weeks."

"Well I don't _have_ a better reason! It's _bullshit_ , I know, but life is bullshit, _this_ is bullshit but you're just not and I _can't_ \- I just, I can't."

There was a growl of frustration; " _Bucky-"_

"Just leave it, alright?!"

"You're not even making  _sense_ , Buck, I still don't get _why_ -"

" _Fuck_ , Steve, can you just _drop_ it? I already told you, I just fucking can't explain it, it's too-"

"I bet _Natasha_  knows."

Clint grimaced, biting down on his lip to stop himself from groaning. _Oh no_.

He heard another growl, this time coming from Bucky. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

" _Nothing_."

"No, don't be a child, just fucking tell me."

"What, like you were telling me about how you were feeling? Like how you were communicating like an adult? Like how you didn't lie to me about where you were or what you were doing or just flat out avoiding me for almost a fortnight? Or like how you effectively decided that we weren't working so it wasn't worth the effort."

Clint winced, and Steve continued. "Well sorry to fucking break it to you,  _princess,_ but you're not the only one in this relationship. It's not all about you, and I get that you've had a shit time of it but god fucking _damn_ it, Bucky. _Damn it_. I _care_ about you."

"Sorry but I can't _believe_ you're making this about Nat, _again_. Why are you always so jealous of her; what  _is_ it with you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, jealous? _Me?_ Of the person you actually _don't_ shut out and completely fucking ignore? No, you're right Bucky, I'm being _completely_ irrational here. Hell, you even told me once that she'd always come first to you-"

"She will."

"-and how is that supposed to make _me_ feel, huh? But who am I, right? I'm just the _boyfriend_ , the one who doesn't know your entire life story. Oh wait, that's because you _never_ _talk about it_."

"I don't talk about it for a _reason,_ Steve, and if you knew me at all maybe you'd fucking understand that!"

"Then I clearly don't know you, because I don't understand a god damn thing."

"No." Bucky's voice was cool. "I guess you don't."

There was a long, heavy silence. For a blessed moment Clint thought his hearing aid had died. But then;

"What are we doing?" There was a resigned note in Steve's tone.

A sigh. "I've been asking myself that for a while."

Clint couldn't help it; he winced again. That was unnecessarily harsh.

Steve apparently thought so too. "I-" a pause, then: "Just, fuck you. _Fuck_ you for that. You should've _talked_ to me- talked to me _before_ it got to this."

"I couldn't."

"Yeah, you could." Another sigh. "Things were going fine until you pulled all this shit, you know. Better than fine, I thought."

"Were they?" Bucky's tone was vicious. "Because that's not how I remember it."

A sharp crashing sound, as though Steve had smashed something onto a desk. Probably his fist. "You know what? I'm done. I can't do this. You're being- Jesus Christ, Bucky. I can't. Not if you never-" he cut himself off. "I tried, alright? I tried, and you didn't, and we're done."

"Good," came the cutting reply, and only seconds later there was the loud sound of a door slamming shut.

Clint didn't move a muscle until he heard Steve's footsteps down the hall recede into silence.

Bucky seemed to be waiting for the same thing, because as soon as Steve was out of earshot Clint heard a long, shaky exhale, and the sound of chair legs scraping against the linoleum as someone sank down into it.

In what must have been record time Clint gathered up his stuff, escaping down the hallway (quietly though, quietly) and towards his car. He needed to talk to Tash.

 

*

 

Natasha spent most of the story with her hands clasped around her mouth. When Clint reached the end she let out a long sigh, shaking her head. "Oh god. He's such an idiot. Oh my _god_ , what a _colossal-"_

Clint gave her a look. "Don't get involved, okay? Barnes made his choice, and Steve made his, and there isn't much we can do about it."

Natasha was fuming. "But he didn't even think about what he was saying, Clint, and now look what he's gone and done! He's ruined the only good thing in his life!"

"Don't push him on this."

"I have to talk to him about it, at least-"

"Nat," Clint's tone was weary, "I know you care about him, but honestly, think about it. He's an adult. If he grows to hate his decision, he can fix it. He's a big boy."

"He's a fucking moron, is what he is," Natasha muttered.

Clint shrugged, fingers messing absently with his left hearing aid. "Maybe so, doesn't change what I said."

She sighed. "He was doing so well." She knew she sounded like a petty child, but it was true. He _had_ been doing well. He'd been coping with everything that had happened since his brother's death back in November, and she'd been so proud of him for it, and she knew as well as Clint did that half of it had been down to Steve. But since the argument with his parents, something inside Bucky just seemed to have snapped. He'd been pushed too far, and now everything he cared about was paying the price. Natasha thought it best not to mention how he'd been avoiding her as well. "How could he do that? How could he do that to himself- to Steve?"

"I don't think that's a question that either of us can answer," Clint sighed, sinking back further into the couch.

"But James loved Steve. He really did, I _know_ he did."

"Well," Clint said, "I think some people are just _better_ at handling being in love than others. And it's not always a character flaw, it's just a fact. A damned shame, but true nonetheless. Some people aren't cut out to handle that kind of pressure, and I guess Barnes is one of 'em." He frowned slightly at the floor. "I just wish Steve wasn't so good at it. I think maybe that made Bucky feel worse."

Natasha agreed with him, but she didn't say so. Instead, she glanced up at him; "Clint?"

"Yeah?"

She looked away. "I don't want to end up like them."

He gave her an odd look, reaching out to rest one hand lightly on her thigh. "We won't."

"I'm not very good at the whole 'relationship' thing either."

"You're doing just fine."

Natasha only hesitated for a second before saying, "I love you."

The world didn't stop.

No symphony orchestra suddenly appeared in her living room, playing a romantic melody as heart-shaped confetti rained down from the sky. She didn't feel urges to go out for walks at sunset, share an ice-cream cone or move to the suburbs and buy a dog. Instead a dim light from the street lamps outside shone halfheartedly through a crack in the curtains, and she could feel Clint's leg pressed against hers, side-by-side on the couch; enough contact to be intimate without being overwhelming, just how they both liked it. Her breathing was steady, and her heartbeat was even, and nothing had changed. She loved him; it was just a fact, a simple fact, that Natasha had known for a while but had only just thought to say.

Clint paused, ceasing to fiddle with his hearing aid for just a moment. Natasha didn't need to look at him to see his smile. "I love you too."

The world only stopped a little.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me at [macbeth-no](http://macbeth-no.tumblr.com) for anything you need; i'm there a lot more often than i am here.


	15. In A Month

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey kids! it's been a while, i know, and it's getting a bit stupid that i have to apologise for my shitty updates every time i add a chapter, but that's where we're at. good news: we're back to our regular programme this week- no more little filler chapters. this one involves a lot of context, old friends, new friends, and a bridge being mended. well, when i say mended, i kind of mean held together by sticky tape and bits of string. but whatever it's the same thing.
> 
> also, next monday (june 8th) is my birthday! i'm only telling you this because it's my 18th and i'm super excited to finally be able to drink legally and not rely on my friends' IDs-- and also because i have a history A level at 9am that morning. i know i'm struggling through exams and everything right now so i just want to wish everyone doing the same good luck and i hope you get the grades you're looking for :)
> 
> as ever, thanks so much for reading and i really appreciate any feedback you guys have, even if it's to let me know you hated it :P
> 
> i love all of you.
> 
> -cat

A lot can change in a month, and for Steve, a lot _had_ changed.

He was worried about Bucky, and not just in a concerned-ex-boyfriend-who-can't-get-over-him kind of way. He'd been trying not to, but he couldn't help but notice the way Bucky's face had grown narrower and paler in the space of under a month, or how tired he always looked, or the slouchy way he'd started to carry himself, lazy grace evaporated from his movements. It was distressing how different he seemed, and Steve was never sure if it was because of him, because it had started before they'd even broken up in the first place. Whatever the cause, there was something wrong with Bucky and Steve wasn't sure what it was. Sam had mentioned possible insomnia once or twice and even depression one time, but Steve had waved him off. The idea was _completely_ ridiculous. Bucky wasn't depressed. Someone would've told him.

Someone _definitely_ would've told him.

… Right?

"I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that's not how they're supposed to play lacrosse."

With Steve's train of thought broken he lifted his head, squinting across the field from where he was sitting on the bleachers to watch as a group of boys attacked each other with lacrosse sticks. He glanced sideways at Natasha as she sat down next to him, smoothing out her pencil skirt before crossing her legs at the ankle and leaning back on her elbows.

He didn't really spend much time with Natasha anymore. It wasn't that he didn't like her, because he did, it was just that she was always Bucky's Friend. And Steve wasn't sure where Bucky's Friends and Steve's Friends were allowed to mix, because at the moment Bucky and Steve wouldn't even make eye contact if they walked past each other in a corridor. (There was also the slightly pettier reason that Steve knew Bucky cared about Natasha more than he'd cared about Steve, which was enough to make a small part of him resent her for it. But that wasn't her fault. It wasn't even Bucky's.) 

"No," he agreed eventually, turning away from her to watch as one of the boys smacked another on the ass with the stick, "It's kind of not."

"Aren't you supposed to be teaching them?"

Steve shook his head. "School ended fifteen minutes ago," he pointed out, gesturing to his watch to prove it. "We're getting new sticks soon anyway, I figured I might as well let them fuck around with the equipment before the new stuff arrives and we gotta be all careful with it."

Natasha nodded her understanding. "Fair enough."

They sat in silence for a brief moment, watching as Wade Wilson terrorised Peter Parker with a set of shoulder pads.

"You know, it's been almost a month now. Don't you think it's time to quit the sulking? _You_ broke up with _him_  after all."

Steve frowned petulantly, ignoring how ironic it was. "I'm not sulking. I'm over that."

"Steve, honey, you're sitting on the bleachers staring off into the distance like a heartbroken teenager. Have we gone back to 2005? Are we in highschool?"

His frown deepened. "I _like_ sitting here."

Natasha snorted. "Yeah, I can really tell. You look like you're having the time of your life."

"I like the peace and quiet!"

Just at that moment, one of the boys made a loud screeching sound as someone threw the ball accidentally smack into his crotch.

"You're right," Natasha said sarcastically, "So peaceful."

"Shu'up."

"Come on, Steve. I can tell something's bothering you."

Steve made a face. "Is it really that easy to tell?"

She gave him a sympathetic look. "Rogers, you look like a kicked puppy."

"No, my face just does that. I have kicked puppy resting face."

Natasha grinned, nudging her shoulder against his. "I'm sure you do."

There was another silence- only this time it wasn't silent at all, as Steve could hear Peter's petulant squealing as Wade tackled him to the ground. They were the only two students left on the field now.

"You know, if it's still getting to you, you could try _talking_  to him-"

"Tasha?" Steve interrupted, wincing slightly.

"Yeah?"

"Can we, like. Not talk about it. Please. Like you said; I'm the one that broke up with him." 

Natasha studied him curiously, a slight crease on her forehead, before deeming his request acceptable and nodding her head. "Yeah, okay. Sure thing."

Steve let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you." In his own defence, he'd really been trying hard not to mope over the whole Bucky situation. He really had. They'd had a good run, and Steve cared about him, a lot, but it didn't work out and Steve just had to make his peace with that. And he'd been doing okay, so far- or, about as okay as you can do when the person you love proceeds to cut you out altogether. But yeah. He'd been doing okay.

It was easier when Steve was alone. Easy to pretend that everything was okay in his small little world- just him and occasionally his neighbour's cat, who had taught herself how to open his front door when he forgot to lock it and would sometimes provide him with a little company. He could pretend that he was just having a quiet day at home. It was ten times more difficult at school, because Bucky was there, and Steve couldn't pretend any more. He couldn't pretend everything was alright when Bucky was sitting ten feet away from him in the staff room, chuckling at something Natasha said, or staring into his coffee with the slight frown that Steve had quickly come to recognise as his 'thinking face'. A couple of days previously the pair had accidentally made eye contact, and Steve could've sworn he felt his entire heart jump out of his ribcage- until Bucky had looked sharply away and Clint had given him a strange look from across the room. It had been a month and being anywhere near him still killed.

He wasn't sure if they were going to be friends, himself and Bucky. He didn't know if they _could_ be. He supposed he'd like to try, eventually, but for now… Well, they couldn't even look each other in the eye.

As if she could read his mind, Natasha knocked her shoulder against his. "It'll get easier," she promised, "Really. It's still a fresh wound, is all. Give it time."

Steve sighed. He couldn't get rid of the heavy feeling in his stomach. "Guess so."

"You doing okay though? Other than the obvious, obviously. We don't really talk much."

Steve gave her a small grin. "Keeping busy. I'm kind of swamped at the moment."

Natasha rolled her eyes, leaning back to rest her elbows on the metal bench behind them. "Same here. I'm up to my eyeballs in mock exams to be marked- I'm beginning to think we should stop giving them altogether, just to save myself the trouble of grading them."

Steve snorted. "That sounds like a win-win situation for everyone. Aside from Tony, of course, who likes the whole grading process because it means he gets to prove that he's smarter than a bunch of teenagers by leaving snarky comments in the margin."

Natasha laughed, opening her mouth to reply before something to Steve's left caught her eye. Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed again. " _Wade Wilson and Peter Parker_ ," she started as she got to her feet, " _Not_ _on_ _school grounds_ , _thank you very much."_

Steve whipped around just in time to see the two boys scramble away from each other, both beet red and looking ashamed of themselves.

"I think that's enough playing around with the games equipment for today," Steve announced as he got to his feet, clapping his hands together and doing his best not to make eye contact with the boys, who now had just the right amount of space between them for it to be horrifically awkward for everyone involved.  "Do me a favour and put all the gear away?"

Peter nodded silently while Wade snatched everything up, before grabbing the other boy's shoulder and pushing him towards the locker rooms, still looking completely mortified. Steve didn't miss Wilson's grin.

When he looked back after making sure the boys had grabbed all the stuff they were supposed to, Natasha was frowning down at her phone, brushing a hand through her hair.

 _Is it Bucky?_ Steve raised an eyebrow, "Everything okay?"

She nodded slowly, frown unmoving. "Yeah, just… Ah, it doesn't matter."

"You sure?"

"It's nothing." Natasha slipped her phone back into her pocket leaning all her weight on her right hip and giving him a soft smile. "I gotta bounce, sorry Rogers. Catch you later?"

Steve shrugged. "You got it. You're in tomorrow right?"

"You bet."

"You coming to the staff meeting thing?"

Natasha made a face. "I ran into Fury this morning. Couldn't think of an excuse fast enough."

"So you'll be there?"

" _Malhereusement_ ," she sighed, putting on a surprisingly convincing French accent. "Wouldn't want to let Fury down, god knows what he'd do. Probably something involving guns."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "Why guns specifically?"

Natasha grinned impishly, eyes twinkling as she replied, "Haven't you heard? He was some kind of special ops, like me and James and Clint. Super top secret, real hush-hush stuff. Word is, he was the leader of a secret service within the government responsible for dealing with all things alien."

Steve eyed her sceptically. "Oh really?"

She laughed. "No. But I could totally see it, couldn't you? It's the eye patch; makes him look a bit super-villain-y. Anyway, I need to go, I'll see you tomorrow."

As she was about to leave, the sick feeling in his gut got the better of him and Steve blurted out, "Tasha?"

She turned around, eyes questioning.

"You'd tell me if there was something really wrong, wouldn't you? With Bucky, I mean? It's just, you know. He's not himself, and Sam says he thinks there's something going on, but obviously I can't talk to _him_ …" He trailed off, looking worried. "I just- I mean- you'd tell me if he wasn't well, right?"

"Of course," Natasha said slowly, but Steve had discovered recently he could never really tell if she was lying to him or not. She was always too put-together. "You focus on sorting _your_ shit out, Steve, god knows you've got enough on your plate." There was something guarded about her expression when she added, "Let me worry about James." She paused for a bit, and then her expression lit up. "Hey, I have an idea. Let's go for drinks tomorrow after the meeting, yeah? You and me. Give us time to catch up a bit more."

Steve smiled. "That sounds really nice, Tasha, I'd love to."

"Great! I'll see you tomorrow then. Don't you forget," she warned, grinning.

Steve laughed. "I won't," he promised giving her a little wave as she turned around and headed off towards the car park, hair swishing gracefully behind her with every step. It was strange, but Steve could definitely see what Bucky saw in her. 

 

*

 

It took almost a month after…  Well, That Night, before Bucky started to feel like a _person_ again. After the argument with Steve and then the uncomfortable hell that had been Valentine's Day (it's better off not mentioning) he'd been convinced that his only option was to crawl into a hole somewhere far away and wait there until he died. But he didn't do that, because he had kids to teach, and his siblings would miss him, and it would probably only take Natasha about a week to find him again anyway. 

He hadn't been sleeping well, to say the least. Maybe a maximum of three or four hours a night, depending on the nightmares and surprisingly frequent splitting headaches that meant he'd been aggressively grinding his teeth in his sleep again. Getting up in the mornings had been a struggle, and trying to force himself to go to work had been even worse. If the kids didn't have exams coming up he wasn't sure he could've done it.

He wasn't really eating either, because going to the cafeteria at lunchtimes meant running into other people. People who usually bugged him about dark circles under his eyes, how much weight he'd lost, or how straggly and long his hair was getting these days. These people usually consisted of Pepper, Jane and, oddly, Coulson, so Bucky decided to just avoid leaving his classroom whenever possible. It was easier than having to lie to them, and he was never really hungry anyway. He usually spent his lunch break staring at his computer screen, not really reading any of his emails, instead just thinking about how much time he had left until he could take another aspirin.

Natasha had gone to his older brother after the third or fourth day of Bucky not eating, deciding that someone in his family needed to know about his past with depression, and Sebastian had arrived at his front door with a paper bag of antidepressant medication the next day with strict instructions to take two pills a day and not to ask questions about where he'd got them from. Bucky was curious, naturally, but the pills seemed to work and that was enough for him to heed his brothers wishes. 

And so, exactly twenty seven days and fourteen hours after the argument, Bucky woke up on his couch to find that he'd managed to successfully sleep though an entire night without the aid of alcohol, and the effect it had on his humour was incredible. A simple feat like that was enough to put him in a- well, not quite a good mood, but a much better one. He even managed to shower and cook himself breakfast, and once he got to work he'd actually popped into the staff room to make himself a coffee. Yep, it was going to be a better day. He could feel it.

He wasn't even surprised when Clint picked up on it.

"My my, Sergeant, you're looking mighty chipper today," he commented with a wide grin as he slid into the chair opposite Bucky on the staff room table. "Am I mistaken or did you even take a shower?"

"Very funny," Bucky said dryly, tossing an empty packet of sugar at him. "I never stopped showering."

Clint shrugged, grinning into his coffee. "Well if that's not it then what could it be? Because you, dear boy, look simply radiant this fine day."

Bucky stared at him. "You totally got laid this morning."

"That obvious?"

"Obvious enough for Nat to stab you if she sees you behaving like this; tune it down a bit if you wanna live."

"Good advice."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "You're welcome. What happened? I thought Nat hated morning sex."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "I'm _not_ gonna ask how you know that and instead I'm just gonna reply; I sent her a text last night that said I thought Fast and Furious was better than Lord of the Rings and she like immediately showed up at my door with the box set and demanded we watched the entire trilogy. We got no sleep and at the end I still didn't change my mind."

Bucky smirked. "Oh, I get it. Angry sex."

"Aha! There it was! A smirk! You _are_ feeling better. C'mon, Barnes, give me something to work with here. Finally shot whoever it was that was pissing in your cornflakes?"

Bucky snorted. "It's nothing important, Barton, I just slept better than usual."

"You try that herbal tea of Nat's?"

"No, why?"

Clint gave him a meaningful look. "Dude. Stuff's incredible. Makes you feel like you're floating."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "And you're sure it's _tea?"_

"What else would it be?"

"… Don't worry about it."

"Is that James Barnes? In a _public place?"_ Bucky couldn't help but smile at the sarcasm dripping like honey from Natasha's tone as she pulled up the chair next to Clint, giving him a look of mock horror. "Is the Rapture upon us?"

"Oh, go away."

Clint clapped victoriously, "He's _smiling!_ Jesus has, in fact, risen again."

Bucky rolled his eyes but was unable to stop his lips from twitching into another smile. "Is that supposed to be a reference to a miracle? Is me smiling a miracle now?"

Clint laughed. "You tell me, Bucky boy."

Bucky crinkled his nose. "Don't ever call me that again."

"Bucky boy."

"Stop it."

Natasha laughed, elbowing Clint in the arm. "You gotta call him Jimmy, he hates that even more."

Bucky groaned. "My brother still calls me that."

"Jimmy, really?"

"Yeah, for James."

Clint rolled his eyes. "I picked up on that part, yeah, thank you."

Natasha laughed, shaking her head in amusement, before turning to Bucky and giving him A Look. "Oh, by the way, I gotta talk to you about something."

Bucky made a face. "Oh no."

"Oh yes."

Clint clapped again, grinning. "Oh excellent."

"Gooooood morninggoodmorninggoodmorning," chimed an unnecessarily chipper Tony Stark as he barged backwards into the staff room, balancing a stack of papers a foot tall in his arms. "How _is_ everyone on this fine Friday?"

"What's all that for, Stark?" Natasha questioned with a raised eyebrow, gesturing to the pile in Tony's arms.

Tony made a face. "Fury's got me doing the paperwork for some new computers he's considering getting put in." He dumped the massive stack on the table beside Bucky, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

"Why're we getting all this new shit all of a sudden?" Bucky questioned, glancing sideways at Clint. "First the gym, now this-"

"I've actually been approached about some new books for the library too," Clint nodded. He paused, thinking, then shrugged. "And it's probably just pressure from the board. Grammar school, New York; they probably want Fury to up the fees or something and make it seem like it's worth the money."

Tony shook his head, sighing. "It's all about the business these days."

"Aint you a business man yourself?" Natasha challenged, lips twitching into a slight grin.

Tony absently waved a hand. "Technicalities."

Clint laughed. "Fucker."

Darcy stuck her head around the door, lifting up her wrist and tapping the face of her watch. "Bell's about to go people, off you pop."

Clint and Tony got to their feet at the same time, and the sound of eight chair legs scraping the floor simultaneously was enough to make Bucky wince. 

"You kids going to the meeting this afternoon?" Tony questioned as he struggled to pick up his papers again.

Clint nodded, reaching to snatch his briefcase off the floor.

Natasha crinkled her nose. "Yeah." There was a brief silence, and then she kicked Bucky in the shin under the table.

He started. "Huh? Oh, yeah, the meeting. Think so. 'S compulsory isn't it?"

Tony raised his eyebrows. "Nothing's ever compulsory, buddy. Don't do things in life that you don't wanna do."

Natasha rolled his eyes. "Thank you as ever, Stark, for that excellent piece of life advice."

Tony winked at her. "My pleasure, babycakes."

"That's alarming," Clint commented, making Bucky laugh and Natasha's eyes to roll even further back into her head.

"Anyway, gotta dash," Tony grinned, waggling his eyebrows. "I'll see you three later."

"Later," Clint echoed, and Bucky raised a hand in farewell as Tony managed to successfully open the door with his elbow and shoulder his way out into the corridor.

Natasha stretched back into her chair, giving Bucky a pointed grin. " _I_ don't actually have a class now."

Bucky shot Clint a distressed look. "Me neither."

Clint just grinned at him. "Well aren't you lucky."

"I hate you," he sighed.

"Love you too." He reached down to kiss Natasha's cheek, giving Bucky a salute before leaving the room just as the bell signalling the first lesson of the day went off, leaving just the pair of them alone in the staff room.

Bucky determinedly didn't look at Natasha. He knew exactly what her expression would be, and he didn't look at her.

"So," the redhead started in a casual manner, picking at one of her nails. "I spoke to Steve yesterday."

Bucky groaned, sinking further into his chair, and all of a sudden there was a sour taste in his mouth. "Can we not, Nat?"

"He asked me if I'd tell him if there was something else going on with you."

Bucky stiffened. "What did you say?"

"I said of course I would."

"But you didn't tell him."

"No," Natasha sighed, "I didn't."

Bucky had to stop himself from letting out a sigh of relief. "Good," he said finally. "That's… Good. He doesn't need to know. He'll think it's his fault, he doesn't need that."

"I think he already does." When Bucky gave her a questioning look, she continued; "He's smarter than you give him credit for."

Bucky snorted. "I know he's smart, there's just a difference between being intelligent and jumping to the conclusion of manic depression when someone starts behaving a little differently."

Natasha winced. "You know I hate it when you talk about it like that."

"Why?"

"Because it _scares_ me."

Bucky was tempted to shoot back a snarky remark about how it wasn't even her problem, but the look on her face made him reconsider. Behind her mask of indifference, there was something genuine in her eyes that made him believe her. She really _was_ scared for him.

So instead, he sighed. "Right. Sorry. Anyway, look, I'm feeling a lot better today."

"Have you been taking the pills Sebastian got for you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Good." Natasha kicked him lightly under the table. "And have you thought any more about… I mean, I don't want to push you, but what happened with Steve was-"

"Not a mistake," Bucky finished for her, avoiding her gaze and instead training his eyes on the table in front of them. "I meant what I said, I'm not good for him. And anyway, he broke up with me, and I can't talk to him because I don't want to lie to him."

"He broke up with you because you were being a dick," Natasha deadpanned, and Bucky found himself half agreeing. "He still cares about you, James."

"Doesn't change anything. And I don't want to talk about that."

Natasha sighed. "Right."

There was a brief silence, interrupted after about fifteen seconds by Natasha saying in a soft voice, "Have you heard from your parents?"

Bucky would be lying if the mention of them didn't feel like a stab in the chest. "No," he said, and his voice cracked slightly. He coughed, quickly clearing his throat. "Uh, no."

"Have your siblings said anything?"

He shook his head. "Sebastian cut off contact with Ma and Dad altogether after you went to him, but the others… They don't like talking about it."

Something like fire flashed in Natasha's eyes. "Well _that's_ fucking ridiculous, what, does it make _them_ uncomfortable?"

Bucky winced. "It's not like that," he argued, "I've put them in a really tough position, and they're on my side, but… They're our _parents_ , Nat. I can't keep bringing my siblings into the middle of this."

"But if they knew how much _damage_ it did-"

"Hey," Bucky interrupted, "That's not fair, don't put this on me."

"I'm not putting it on you!"

"You are! They shouldn't have to give up our parents just because I'm a sensitive fucking soul, alright? I'm not a child, I can handle it. I'll get better. I'm not gonna snap at any sudden moment and make a reckless decision to ruin my life."

Natasha sighed. "James, honey. I think you already did."

Bucky slumped back into his chair, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead. "You know that's not what I meant."

"The fact that you even know what I'm talking about proves you've at least considered it." Natasha leaned forwards, brows knitted in concern. "It's not too late to fix things with him, you know."

"Natalia," Bucky sighed, letting his hand drop onto the table. His fingers curled into a fist. "I can't. Not like this, okay? He doesn't need this, and I'm not sure I could talk to him and continue to keep it a secret. I have to fix myself first. And I'm sick of talking about it so let's just drop it, alright?"

Natasha reached out and covered his hand with hers.

Bucky smiled slightly, turning his own hand over and lacing their fingers together. He gave them a squeeze. "Don't _look_ at me like that."

"I just wish more people knew how great you are," she murmured. "To go through everything you have and still be able to turn up to work every day… It's no small feat, James. I'm proud of you." Again, it was just a feeling, but Bucky could tell that she meant it.

Determined not to cry in front of her, he rolled his eyes. "Well, hey. Gotta pay the rent somehow, right?"

She smiled at him, leaning forwards to kiss him on the cheek. "Sure."

Bucky smiled back, even if it was slightly half-hearted. Seconds later he let out a violent sneeze.

Natasha jerked back, surprised.

Bucky crinkled his nose, reaching for a napkin. "Sorry."

At that moment the door opened and a frazzled-looking Phil Coulson stepped inside. "Romanoff, could I borrow you for a second?" He asked, and Bucky could tell from his tone that he was very stressed about something that probably didn't need to be stressed over. But that was just Phil- the man worked harder than just about anyone else at this school, and Bucky had never once heard him complain about it. Heck, he admired the man. "There's been a mix up with some of the English textbooks for delivery and-"

"Say no more," Natasha agreed as she got to her feet, letting her hand rest for a moment on Bucky's shoulder before heading over to join Phil. "Which books?"

"Well from what I could tell we've got The Connell Guide to Othello, some critical essays on Angela Carter, some teensy thing about Swift…"

Bucky could hear their voices fading into nothing as they disappeared down the corridor, leaving him alone. He remained in his chair for just a few seconds, before he too got to his feet. Might as well get a head start on grading the midterms.

 

*

 

Bucky had seen some weird things in his lifetime, but he was positive that this was one of the strangest.

"I just… Nat, please, if you love me, stop that. Stand up. People are gonna start arriving for the meeting in a minute… Oh my god."

"Stop? Why would I stop? It stretches out my back."

Bucky cringed as an upside-down Natasha twisted her torso around even further from her place on the floor and her back made a loud clicking noise.

"You look like a pretzel, it's hurting my brain. You do this shit in front of your cat? Doesn't it get terrified?"

"You're just jealous that you're not this flexible." 

"It actually makes me feel physically ill. You shouldn't be able to bend like that."

"Uh huh."

The door to the staff room swung open, and Sam Wilson walked inside with Steve by his side, who was laughing at something Sam had said. When his eyes met Bucky's however the laughter died, and Bucky was left immediately feeling like all the noise in the universe had been swallowed up by a black hole. Time seemed to stand still. Nothing so much as moved.

That is, until Sam blurted out, "Tasha, what-"

"I'm stretching my back."

"How've you gotten your head to twist that far?!"

"Practise," the redhead replied cheerfully.

Steve's gaze dropped, and Bucky was able to breathe again. He quickly turned to busy himself with the coffee pot.

"You shouldn't drink so much of that stuff," Sam called over to him, and when Bucky glanced back he noticed Steve had taken up residence on the couch.

"Why not?"

"Too much caffeine aint good for your system. You can get addicted."

Bucky shrugged. "It's probably too late for me now."

Natasha got to her feet finally, rolling her shoulders back a couple of times with a sharp clicking sound before letting out a noise of contentment and flopping down next to Steve on the couch. 

Bucky avoided said couch entirely, instead choosing to seat himself in one of the wooden chairs around the table, drumming his fingers absently on the tabletop. He could feel Natasha eyeing him from across the room and it did nothing but make him feel even more irrationally anxious. He glanced up at the clock on the wall; 3:56. "It's definitely supposed to start at four, right? The meeting? We haven't got it wrong?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Yes, James, it definitely starts at four."

"You sure? Because no one else is h-" 

And of course, just as he said it, the door was pushed open and at least ten more people entered the room- Clint, Bruce and Darcy among them.

"You were saying?" Natasha said sarcastically as Clint threw himself into the chair opposite Bucky, grinning widely at him.

"Dude. I've had a thought," he said excitedly over the chatter that was beginning to flood the room.

"Oh no."

"Remember how me and you and Tasha went to that firing range a couple months back?"

"Oh _no_." 

"Why nooot?! It'll be fun! Blow of some steam, bit of friendly competition-"

"There's no such thing," Bruce put in as he sat down to Bucky's left, clapping him on the shoulder by way of hello. Bucky had always liked Bruce.

Bucky made a face. "He's right," he pointed out to Clint, who just shook his head.

"No he's not- Banner, stay out of it; point is, I'm thinking maybe it'd be a good break of routine. Y'know?"

Bucky wasn't convinced. He was pretty sure the best way to deal with his situation wasn't going to be shooting things and getting into a target contest with Natasha and Clint- it was likely to turn out terribly, like last time, only Bucky's patience was liable to be a lot thinner and his temper a lot shorter. It wouldn't end well.

Before he had a chance to voice this opinion, however, Nick Fury's commanding voice was drowning out everyone else's.

"So," he began, and immediately the rest of the room quietened down, "As I'm sure many of you are already aware, I've organised this meeting to just keep all of you up to date on some of the changes that are gonna be happening these next few months."

"This about all the new stuff?" Darcy questioned from her spot near the door, and Fury nodded.

"Exactly. I've had several meetings with the board of governors and they all seem to be under the impression that, as a school, we're not making as much money as we could be."

There was a ripple of chatter at this, but the headmaster shut it down just by raising his hand.

"I know what you're all gonna say; that's not the point of an institution like ours, and although you'd be right I'm afraid the board doesn't see it that way. We're going to be raising our intake of students by 10% next September, and in order for the preparation to run as smoothly as possible up to that point I'm going to need all of you on board. That includes you, Stark, so you best actually listen for this part."

"I'm all ears," Tony grinned, and Pepper lightly smacked his arm.

Fury just rolled his eyes. "Anyway," he continued, "As you've probably already noticed we've started updating some of the older pieces of tech and equipment- the IT department computers, for example, and Steve's heading up the organisation of the new layout of the gym. In addition to that we've got new books and textbooks arriving, and some of the course structures are being changed- but I'll discuss that with each department as the details are finalised. If anyone has any specific questions then feel free to drop by or send an email or something to either myself or to Phil-"

Coulson waved a hand.

"- and we'll clear it up. That's all for now, I think, unless anyone has any concerns…? No? Alright, if senior staff could just stay behind for an extra ten minutes or so to discuss minor changes to syllabi, that would be great. As for the rest of you, have a good evening."

Everyone in the staff room got to their feet at once, and while some chose to mill behind either out of necessity (being senior staff) or just to chat Bucky was not one of those people. He picked up his bag and made his way smoothly to the door, hoping not to be intercepted by anyone on his way out purely for the sake of his own sanity. He loved his friends, he really did, but there was only so much interaction he could take per day and he wasn't exactly having a great couple of weeks.

Unfortunately for him, it wasn't meant to be.

"Bucky?"

It was a voice he recognised, but wasn't exactly thrilled to hear. He turned around, bracing himself, and was met with Peggy Carter's friendly smile. "Long time no speak."

"Yeah," he agreed, forcing an amiable smile and shifting slightly on his feet. "Long time."

"Listen, I was just wondering, you know, it being a Friday night and all, you should come for a drink with us."

"Us," Bucky echoed, ignoring the dread that settled in his stomach. Drinking with people. _Great_.

Peggy nodded, gesturing behind her to where Pepper, Darcy and Jane were laughing together about something. "Yeah, us. Girls night out. What do you say?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "I'm not a girl," he pointed out.

Peggy smiled, shrugging as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "No," she agreed, "But I think I'm right in saying that you'd enjoy it. And we asked Natasha, but she said she had other plans. Please?"

Bucky chewed on his lip. "I don't know," he said slowly, "I'm not really in the mood for-"

"Just for an hour," Peggy pleaded, giving him an encouraging smile. "You'll have a good time, I promise."

"Why are you asking me? We don't, uh, know each other very well."

She made a noncommittal noise. "It seems to me that you could use a bit of a break from people who know you very well," she answered honestly, and if she noticed the way Bucky's eyes drifted to the couch where Natasha was sitting with Steve then she didn't bring it up. "If I'm wrong then you can just say no," she added softly, and Bucky didn't think he'd ever liked her more than in that moment.

Bucky hesitated for a few seconds before he sighed, closing his eyes, and caved. "Fine, alright, I'll come."

"Yes! Okay, fantastic, so we'll meet you at the White Hart around six-ish?"

Bucky smiled weakly. "Sure, see you there."

Peggy touched his arm reassuringly, giving him a friendly smile, before turning to rejoin the group of women Bucky was due to be seeing later. He wasn't _dreading_ it, per se, but he wasn't exactly excited. With his people skills being the way they were recently, things were bound to get awkward pretty quickly.

 

*

 

They'd only been in the bar for an hour, and this was already the best Bucky'd felt in weeks. Sure, he was squished into a booth with four women he didn't really know and they were forcing him to try their stupid girly cocktails that probably weren't safe to mix with his antidepressant medication, but hey, what was life without stepping out of your comfort zone every once in a while? They didn't ask him questions about Steve, his parents, or Alexander, and Bucky was grateful to have something to take his mind of everything- even if that something was listening to Pepper and Jane trade horror stories about being married to Tony and Thor respectively.

"One time," Jane was saying through giggles as she raised her appletini to her lips, "he brings home this Mexican carpet salesman-"

"Oh, I was there for this," Darcy snorted, ducking her head. "I live-tweeted the whole thing."

"-and takes him on a tour around the house, showing him all the different carpets. Thor thought _he_ wanted to buy some of _ours_."

"Oh my god," Bucky managed to gasp out after he'd avoided choking on his drink, "he did not."

"He did," Jane laughed, "Cross my heart he did; it was _hilarious_ , Thor even apologised for the stains on some of them-"

"And you didn't correct him?!" Peggy choked through laughter.

Jane shook her head, grinning fiendishly. "It was too funny! And Darcy kept prodding me every time I went to say something."

"I wasn't gonna let you be the one to ruin it for me! I managed to snapchat a bit of it as well."

"Hey," Pepper interrupted, "I don't have you on snapchat."

"Oh really? I'm under Darcinator."

"…Really?"

Darcy shrugged. "Sounds cool."

Pepper pulled out her phone and began putting in Darcy's details.

"Hey Barnes," Jane elbowed him in the side, "You have snapchat?"

Bucky dug his phone out of his pocket and flipped through the apps. "Uhhh… Yeah! I don't use it really, though. I've only got about four contacts."

"Who?"

He scrolled through them. "Natasha, Clint, Steve and my brother."

Peggy rolled her eyes. "That's sad. Give me your phone."

Something about her tone- or maybe her accent- was oddly intimidating, and Bucky found himself offering his phone to her.

"No, give it to me," Darcy argued, snatching it out of Bucky's outstretched hand.

The pair squished together, bent over Bucky's phone as they manically added contact after contact to his friend list.

Bucky gave Pepper a look as she scooted over to join them. "Are you sure this is necessary?"

"Yes, shut up."

"Alrighty then."

After just a few minutes of muttering and giggling they seemed to be done, and Darcy held out the phone victoriously. "Come on. Group selfie. He needs a picture for his story."

"That made no sense to me," Bucky interjected, but they ignored him en-masse. 

"Selfie," Pepper prodded him, "Now."

Bucky rolled his eyes but squeezed closer, giving the camera an exasperated look as it went off and standing out hilariously when compared to the four grinning women.

"'Ladies Night Out'," Darcy dictated as she typed the caption, before grinning to herself and pressing 'post'. "Done! You're all up to date now, Mister Technology."

"I'm not a lady," he argued, "and I hardly use my phone," but Darcy wasn't having any of it.

"Well now you'll have to, because I added half the staff to your friend list."

"Excellent."

She winked at him. "You're welcome."

Another half hour later and Bucky was definitely feeling the alcohol. He'd never been a lightweight, not even a little bit, but there was something about these cocktail things the girls kept ordering that was just so… Awesome. They tasted like they had no alcohol in them at all. So by his seventh, they were really starting to hit home.

Maybe it was the meds.

But hey, Bucky wasn't gonna question it. He felt _fantastic_. That is, until there was a cold gust of wind as the door was pushed open, and two familiar figures walked in and headed straight for the bar.

"Shit," he announced mostly to himself over the sounds of Pepper and Jane giggling over something he hadn't been listening for.

Peggy tapped him on the arm. "What?"

Bucky frowned at the table in front of him, drumming his fingers on it, determinedly not looking up. "On your right." 

Peggy looked where he instructed, raising an eyebrow. "I don't-"

"Other left."

"You said right!"

"…Did I? I meant left, look left."

Peggy craned her neck, and then; "Ohhhhh…"

Because, standing with their backs to the group of women and Bucky, were Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers. Because Bucky was a poor unfortunate bastard who couldn't catch a break in this godforsaken universe, apparently.

Bucky just grimaced. "Have they seen us?"

She shook her head. "Doesn't look like it just yet. You don't wanna talk to them?"

Bucky gave her a look. "'s not Nat. It's Steve. We just… haven't spoken since we split."

"Why's that?"

He winced. "Let's just say it was a nasty breakup."

"What're we talking about?" Pepper interrupted, leaning forwards so she could hear what they were saying. "Breakup?"

"Steve and Natasha are over there," Peggy informed her, nodding towards the bar.

"Ohhh." Pepper gave Bucky a meaningful look. "Want me to distract them while you run?"

Bucky let out a loud snort of laughter, then quickly covered his mouth with his hand. "That's okay," he reassured her with a grin, but the grin was hidden by his hand and his voice came out slightly muffled. "I aint gonna run."

Jane giggled, resting her hand on his forearm. "Don't you worry, James Buchanan. We can hold off the he-devil long enough for you to make your escape."

"I don't need to escape," Bucky giggled, shaking her away, "I'm fine! Really, I'm fine. Nat would definitely notice me running away, and I'd get a beatin' for it tomorrow when I see her for lunch."

"So you're staying?" Darcy prompted.

He rolled his eyes, "Yes. I'm staying. It's alright. I'm a big boy. Besides," he gave Peggy a drunken attempt at a grin, "I'm enjoying myself."

Peggy beamed at him. "See! Didn't I say you'd have fun?!"

"James, over here!"

Bucky braced himself, spinning in his seat to see Natasha waving at him from across the room, a wide grin on her face.

Steve had vanished.

He waved back and then excused himself from the table of women, figuring he might as well go and say hi to Nat while Steve was gone to make it look like he wasn't avoiding him on purpose. It was better than waiting for him to get back, anyway. This way he didn't have to talk to him.

"Hey Nat," he greeted as he approached, somewhat unsteadily, to where she was perched on a barstool. Pretending he hadn't seen her come in, he asked in what he hoped was an innocent way, "You here alone?"

"No," she waved a hand, "Steve's here. He went to the bathroom, thought it would be best to talk to you now. You came out!" She said excitedly in a sudden change of tack, eyes alight. She reached out to give his arm a squeeze. "I'm so pleased, James, really. Who are you with?" She craned her neck to see.

Bucky shrugged limply, "Peggy, Pepper, Darcy aaandd… Jane!"

Nat grinned. "That's a lot of women."

"They said it was a girls night. Don't really know why I'm here."

"Are you having fun?"

Bucky gave her a goofy grin, leaning against the bar to hold himself upright. "Honestly, haven't felt this good in ages. You ever had a piña colada? Try one. " 

Natasha paused, grin fading, and she leaned slightly closer to him. "Have you been drinking?"

Bucky watched her in confusion. "Yes." There was a beat of terse silence. "...No?" 

"James," she hissed, grip on his arm tightening, "You should absolutely _not_ be drinking!"

"Why not?" He asked defensively, pulling his arm away and crossing them tightly over his chest. "I'm an adult, I can drink if I wanna. It's a Friday, I'm getting better, I felt like drinking."

"Because you're on _antidepressants_ , James! Oh my god. You can't drink on that kind of medication! What if they react with the-"

"You're on  _what?"_  

It was like a scene from a movie. Bucky saw Natasha's wince at the same time he felt all colour drain from his face, because someone was standing behind him. Right behind him. Less than two feet away. When he turned it was like slow motion, like time had somehow decelerated to draw the scene out for as long as Bucky could stand. He kept turning for what seemed like an age until finally he stood facing Steve, who'd turned a funny sort of green colour, and was looking at Bucky like he was missing his head.

He hadn't stood this close to Steve in a month. He could see every line of emotion etched into his face, into his posture, his eyes. He could see the fine strands of hair that fell forgotten across the side of his forehead, and he could see a small spot along Steve's lower jaw that he must have missed shaving. 

There was so much- _too_ much. Steve was looking at him like he was supposed to say something but he could hardly breathe, let alone speak. He thought his head was going to explode and his heart was going to shatter all over again, just from the devastated look on Steve's face.

This was why he didn't tell him; why he'd asked Natasha not to. This was why they didn't _speak_. Being this close to him _hurt_ , and he wasn't just talking about physically.

"I didn't-" Natasha started, but she fell silent almost immediately when Steve shot her the most poisonous look Bucky had ever seen him make. What made it even more alarming was that Natasha never backed down- she was certainly doing it now. Bucky was sure it had something to do with the fact he'd asked her to lie for him.

"Bucky," Steve said hoarsely, intense gaze turning back to his own, "Are you taking-"

"Cigarette," Bucky announced loudly over the pounding in his chest. "I need- um- I'm going to go outside now."

"James," Natasha interjected at the same time Steve said "Bucky."

"Outside," Bucky repeated mostly to himself, turning and quickly managing to navigate his way out of the bar. He made eye contact with Peggy as he went, who gave him a concerned look, but he shook his head sharply, holding two fingers up to his mouth to mime smoking. She gave a curt nod, turning back to Jane.

Bucky stepped alone out into the cool night air.

 

*

 

"Steve," Natasha grimaced as soon as Bucky was out of sight, grabbing at his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"You _lied_ to me!" He snapped, "You told me you'd say if anything-"

"He didn't want me to tell you," Natasha interrupted gently, but Steve could still detect the twinge of guilt in her tone. "He didn't want you to know."

"I don't _care!_ I told you I was worried about him, and you said he was fine. You _lied_ to me, about _him_ , how could you do that?" 

Natasha's gaze was solemn. "I told you. He didn't want you to know."

"And why the hell's that?!" He paused, and then, "Was it me? Is it my fault? Oh, god, tell me it's not my fault-"

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Ask him yourself, okay? I'm sick of being the mediator between you two, this is just ridiculous. He's outside, go fucking talk to him."

"He doesn't want to talk to me," Steve sighed, slumping against the bar.

Natasha gave him a sympathetic look. "You're gonna have to talk to him eventually," she pointed out. "In my opinion, that should be sooner rather than later. It's been a month, Steve. I think it's time you guys got closure."

Steve opened his mouth to argue but she was already standing up, abandoning him and heading over to the booth where a bunch of women he recognised were crowding around someone's phone. They greeted Natasha amicably, with Pepper standing up to give her a hug, before Natasha squeezed in beside her.

Steve sighed, hesitating only for a moment before picking himself off the bar. He was going to do it- he was going to talk to Bucky before he lost his nerve completely and ended up sneaking out of the bar via the back door. He was gonna do it.

Because Steve was a fully-grown man he absolutely did not count the steps it took him to get to the door (17). He paused for a second, uncertain, before mentally kicking himself and pushing his way through the door.

It must've been more aggressive than he'd originally planned, because a lazy silhouette outlined in the darkness jumped about a foot into the air when the door slammed against the outside wall.

"Sorry," Steve apologised automatically- that is, _before_ the silhouette lifted a cigarette to their face and their features were lit up by the small orange glow.

Bucky cleared his throat. "That's okay."

Steve let the door swing closed behind him, putting his hands in his pockets to try and make himself slightly warmer. "I, uh. I think we should probably have a conversation," he tried uncertainly, leaning back against the cold wall.

He could see Bucky's leaner figure nod slowly. "Yeah," he agreed after a few moments of stillness, and Steve couldn't help but feel relieved. "A conversation."

"We haven't talked since-"

"I know."

Another brief silence. Steve could smell the smoke from Bucky's cigarette that was drifting in his general direction; he still hated it. It was familiar, and it hurt, and he hated it. He hated how captivating everything about this man was; from his eyes to his voice to his god damn smoking. It was like he was a puzzle to Steve. No, not a puzzle; a drug. Every time Steve thought he'd got him out of his system, they'd catch each others' eyes or accidentally brush arms in a corridor and the rush was back. Bucky Barnes was an addiction that he just couldn't quite manage to kick.

_Maybe the fact that I associate him so prominently with the fucking smoking is a metaphor._

"I didn't tell you because it's nothing to do with you," Bucky supplied eventually. There wasn't much emotion in his voice, and despite not specifying Steve knew exactly what he was talking about. "It's not even the first time. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you thinking it was your fault."

Steve swallowed dryly. "That supposed to make me feel better?"

Bucky shrugged. "Does it?"

"Not so much." _I wish you'd told me. I could've been there for you._

"Oh." Silence. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise." Steve hesitated for a moment, fingers closing around a coin of some sort in his pocket. " _Was_ it me?"

"No," Bucky said immediately. Steve couldn't tell if it was the truth. "It wasn't you. If anything, what happened with you was because of _it_."

 _That doesn't make me feel better at all. I broke up with my depressed boyfriend because he was going through a rough spot, what kind of a shitty person does that?_ But he didn't say that. Instead Steve just chewed nervously at his lip. "And are you..."

"Okay?" Bucky snorted. "Stable, was that what you were gonna say?"

Steve winced."

"You want the truth?"

His brows furrowed, "Of course."

"Then no, I'm not okay." Steve was about to interject when he continued, "I'm a lot better, though. Than I have been I mean. My brother got me these pills, they, uhh. Seem to be working."

Steve nodded slowly. "That's good," he said weakly, unable to get rid of the heavy feeling of guilt that had settled in his stomach.

"Yeah," Bucky agreed, "It is." He dropped the butt of his cigarette to the floor, crushing it into the concrete with the heel of his boot.

"I don't think we should avoid each other anymore," Steve suggested quietly after another few seconds of agonising silence. "It's too… Complicated."

"Complicated," Bucky echoed, glancing upwards to look at him.

Steve immediately looked away. "Yeah. Not for us, I mean," he said quickly, "our friends."

"Our friends," Bucky repeated again, and Steve nodded.

"They have to deal with us avoiding each other, that can't be easy on any of them. And we _work_ together, we see each other every day. Us not talking, even as colleagues, it's just…"

"Impractical," Bucky finished, "I get it."

There was, unbelievably, another awkwardly long gap in the conversation.

"We don't have to be friends just yet," Steve said finally, but Bucky spoke at the exact same time:

"We just need to be civil."

Steve nodded. "Exactly."

"Exactly," Bucky copied, nodding slowly while his gaze drifted to look down at the sidewalk. And then he added, as if he was talking to himself, "It'll get easier, I think."

This was turning into quite possibly the most uncomfortable conversation of Steve's entire life.

"I think so too."

"So," Bucky lead on, "Are we… Are we good?"

Steve cleared his throat. "I think so?"

"Okay," Bucky said awkwardly.

Steve bit down on his lip. "Okay."

Bucky slowly extended his right hand, and it only took Steve a second's hesitation before he took it. Bucky's skin was warm against his own, familiar, and Steve had to remind himself to let go after they'd shook.

"I'm glad we got that sorted," he said once his hand had fallen limply back down to his side, and he was surprised at how genuine it sounded.

In the dark he thought he could see Bucky smile. "So am I."

It was weird, but something had already changed between them, just in the last ten seconds. It was, somehow, less strained; less uncomfortable. They'd shook hands. They were adults, and they'd dated, and broken up, but they'd just shook hands. They were okay again. Not friends, not yet, but… Equals. Colleagues. People. People who no longer saw the point of making this more difficult than it had already been.

"I guess I'll see you inside?"

Bucky nodded. "Guess so." Steve could see him fumbling around in his pockets. "I'm gonna have another smoke, I'll be in in a minute. Tell Nat I'm okay, would you? She worries."

"I will." Steve hung around just long enough to see a flash of flame illuminate Bucky's face as he lit another cigarette, and then he turned on his heel and headed back into the warmth of the bar.

As the door fell closed, he thought he heard a sigh of relief.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just so we're clear i'm NOT condoning drinking on antidepressants and you shouldn't do that under any circumstances. it's dangerous, and thought you may think it doesn't have any real effect it's better safe than sorry. it can affect your disorder and make it worse, make you tired, more anxious, etc, so pleasepleaseplease avoid alcohol. i just needed bucky to get drunk lmao. 
> 
> find me at [macbeth-no](http://macbeth-no.tumblr.com) on tumblr if you wanna! stay safe kids xo


	16. We Were Shit People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't even know what this chapter is or what the point was or why it took me so long to write this even though it's complete garbage. i just have no words, it's all a mess and i'm sorry and you deserve better. this is kind of a filler chapter i guess? but like, by this point they all seem that way so i'm v sorry
> 
> i love all of you and your comments mean so much to me, i couldn't do this without you honestly  
>  
> 
> -cat

Eventually, the once-comfortable silence stretched too far into awkward territory and Bucky couldn't stand it anymore. He dropped his newspaper onto the table with a sigh, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "Alright, Nat, what's up."

"Nothing's up."

"You've been here for an hour and you've hardly said anything. Plus, you've been staring at me like you wanna tell me something for the last fifteen minutes straight."

Natasha cleared her throat, gaze dropping down to scan the upside-down headlines of the newspaper. "It's nothing."

"It's clearly not nothing." He leaned forwards again, leaning his crossed arms on the tabletop. "I may be a shitty friend but I'm not _that_ shitty. C'mon, tell me. _Something's_ eating you."

Natasha shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I... Need some advice."

Bucky shrugged his shoulders. "I can help."

It was Sunday morning and the pair were sitting at the kitchen table in Bucky's (admittedly messier than usual) apartment. Natasha had let herself in at around 10 without any real explanation, and Bucky was so used to it by this stage that he didn't even ask for one and just proceeded to make the both of them breakfast. His newest philosophy was that bacon fixes any and all minor problems. However, the bacon and eggs combo hadn't done much to lighten Natasha's mood, and her broodiness was really starting to get to him. He knew it was ironic, but since he'd been starting to feel better he was finding it difficult to be around sad people without it making him feel worse again. But despite feeling faintly irritated (and guilty because of it) he _did_ want to help; he figured he owed her at least that much and it looked like she had something she really needed to get off her chest, even if she needed a little push first.

Natasha leaned forwards onto her elbows, and Bucky knew he was right because she started talking immediately. 

"Clint asked me to move in with him."

Bucky's eyebrows jumped up in surprise. "He did?"

"Mhm."

"When?"

"This morning, before I came to you."

It took Bucky a minute to come up with something to say. When he finally thought of something, it was probably not the first thing Natasha wanted to hear:

"That is _so_ weird, he didn't even talk to me about it first."

Natasha gave him a confused look. "Why would he have talked to _you_ about it first?"

"I dunno, I kind of just assumed that's the sort of thing you'd talk to your guy friend about first."

She rolled her eyes. "Like you've been any use at all these last couple of weeks. We'd have been better off asking advice from a half-digested piece of bread."

Bucky's eyebrows shot upwards, "Woahh! Where the fuck did _that_ come from?! Bit harsh, isn't it? Jesus, Nat!"

His friend groaned loudly, resting her head in her hands and letting herself slump onto the table. "Oh god, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

Bucky watched her for a moment. She wasn't exactly wrong; he'd been distant recently. Of course, he had reasons to be, but that wasn't an excuse- just an explanation. He sighed. "Sure you did. And I mean, you're right. I can listen _now_ , though, if you want to talk about it." 

Natasha sat up again, rubbing at her temples with her perfectly manicured fingers. She kept her eyes fixed on the table. "I told him I had to think about it and then I left."

Bucky nodded slowly, thinking. "Do you _want_ to move in with him?"

"I don't _not_ want to."

"So... You do?"

Natasha sighed. "I don't know. Yes? Maybe. Yes."

Bucky chewed on his lip. "So why didn't you say yes straight away if that's what you want?"

"Do you think I should've? I just... Personal space is _really_ important, you know? And I'm not sure if I'm ready to actually live with him. Like, full time. I'd miss my own place."

"You don't have to say yes if you're not ready."

"But I think I want to!" Natasha slumped dramatically back into her chair. "There's just so much to consider, you know? If we move in together then it's, like, _serious_."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, grinning, "It's already kind of serious."

"But not living-together serious!"

"Fair enough," Bucky conceded, tearing off the corner of the newspaper just to do something with his hands. "But I don't think it would be as complicated as you've worked it up to be."

Natasha stared at him. "You've never lived with a partner in your life," she pointed out bluntly.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Yes, thank you for reminding me once again of my shortcomings. What I _meant_ was, my personal failings excluded, I think you're overthinking it."

"I'm honestly not overthinking this, there's just so much that could go _wrong_. What if we have a huge fight or something?"

"Then you'd come stay the night with me and you could sort it out with Clint in the morning."

"What if we break up?"

"Then you could get a nice new place."

"What if I can't find anywhere?"

"Then you can live with me; Nat, look, _que sera sera_. Do you want to move in with him or not?"

Natasha sighed. "I think, yes? My lease expires next month anyway, and I guess a change of scenery would be nice, and obviously I don't _hate_ Clint-"

Bucky held up his hands. "Then as your friend, my advice is do it."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. It seems like you want to. So go for it." He paused. "As long as I don't have to help you move."

His friend rolled her eyes. "You're helping. You have to."

"I refuse."

Natasha deemed this unworthy of a response, crinkling her nose instead. "Oh, but his place is so much  _dirtier_ than mine."

"So move into yours?"

"But his is _bigger_..."

Bucky grinned. "Size aint everything, Nat, don't you think you're being a little close-minded?."

Natasha gave him a look. "Just 'cause you're feeling better these days doesn't mean you get to make wisecrack innuendos like that while I'm having a crisis." 

Bucky held up his hands in surrender, grinning. "Sorry?"

"Too late, Judas." 

Bucky laughed, reaching to pick up his newspaper again. "Yeah, yeah."

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. "Who even reads a newspaper anymore? There's an app for that."

"I like being able to turn the pages, okay? And I don't like how the app refreshes itself automatically while I'm trying to read a god damn article."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Christ, you're such a grandma."

Because Bucky is a child, he stuck his tongue out. "Bite me."

"Wow, you're _definitely_ back to your old self."

"You caught me on a good day." Bucky flipped a page.

"Still taking your medication?"

"Of course."

Natasha smiled at him. "You're looking better. More colour in your cheeks."

"I locked myself out of my apartment yesterday and sat in the sun for two hours before my brother could drop by to give me the spare key."

She snorted, "Right, of course."

Bucky's lips twitched into a smile. Truthfully, he _did_ feel a lot better. "Hey, I was thinkin' the last couple of days of maybe getting a sleeve," he mused, apropos of nothing as he briefly scanned the sports results page. "What do you think?"

"Tattoo?"

He stared at her. "No, like a fucking shirt sleeve. Just the one, mind, I wouldn't want _two_ shirt sleeves."

"Alright, alright, Mr Snarky Pants." She pulled her hands up into the sleeves of her sweater. "What would you get?"

"Well," Bucky mused, glancing down at his left arm, "It sounds a little complicated, but I really like the idea of a metal arm."

"That's... Not complicated at all." Her sarcasm was fatal.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I don't mean that shitty grey shading type metal. I mean hardcore dark lines and shit, like clockwork or something. Just in really fine detail. Don't you think that would look cool?"

Natasha cocked her head slightly. "To be honest James, I'm having a hard time picturing what you're talking about."

"It's... Right. So like, you know what clock cogs look like?"

"You want... A clock tattoo?"

"No like- ugh. Like clock _work_ , I guess? Except better- like a ton of different sized cogs and gears so they make my arm look like it's made of metal clockwork."

"That's super specific; where'd you get the idea from?"

Bucky shrugged. "I just figured, why not? I always wanted a sleeve, but my Ma would've hated it. So I guess now, you know, she doesn't _care,_ I can kinda do what I want. And a sleeve is a big enough project to work as a temporary distraction from... Things. _And_ , as long as I wear long-sleeved shirts at work, no one even has to know about it! It can be like my secret."

Natasha was staring at him like he'd grown a second head. "You're rambling."

"I'm not rambling," Bucky said defensively, "I'm explaining."

She sighed, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. "It's a free world James, you don't gotta justify yourself, I was just curious. You want a sleeve, go get a fucking sleeve."

"I think I will."

Natasha grinned at him. "Go for it. You know what? We're too cautious about things. Let's agree to live life on the edge from now on. You get your tattoos and I'll move in with my boyfriend, do we have a fucking deal?"

Bucky snorted, shaking his head slightly. "Yeah, we got a deal."

Natasha beamed at him, leaning back again into her chair. "Hey, if you're looking for tattoo places I know this girl down on 5th and Lexington-"

"I got a place in mind already, actually."

"Same guy that did your...?" She gestured to her own shoulder.

Bucky nodded. "That's the guy."

"Alexei, right?"

"Alexei Bakova."

"He give you a special discount or something?"

Bucky grinned, waggling his eyebrows. "Something like that."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Did you two ever...?"

"That was like, one time, and it was years ago." Bucky shuddered at the thought. "It would be weird now. We're friends." _And I'm sort of hung up on someone else, but hey._  "Anyway, enough about me; what are you gonna do with all your furniture when you move in with Clint? You should definitely keep _your_ couch and get rid of his ratty old one."

Natasha grimaced. "He's kind of attached to his couch..."

Bucky shrugged. "It's a moth's wet dream. He'd get over it."

"His refrigerator is definitely gonna have to go, though. It makes this weird noise-"

"Like a lawnmower, right?"

"Yeah! I honestly don't know how he gets any sleep."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "You know he's half deaf."

Natasha slapped herself lightly across the forehead, sighing deeply. "Oh my god," she muttered to herself. "Obviously."

"I can't believe you forgot that."

"Don't you dare tell on me."

 

 *

 

Bucky should've known that when the inevitable explosion of Easter decorations arrived at the school, it would be because of one Tony Stark. 

He didn't even make it as far as reception before stopping in his tracks and staring in horror at the corridor before him. The walls were covered with poor quality, printed-out stock photos of easter eggs, and every single locker had a party popper taped to it, with a stick note beside it that just read 'go nuts!'. At the end of the hallway there was a huge and obnoxious banner, complete with highlighter-pink writing, that said 'MASS EASTER EGG BATTLE AROUND CAMPUS. FRIDAY AT ELEVEN. BE THERE OR BE SQUARE.'

However shocked Bucky was by the offensive display of Easter spirit, most of the students seemed to be loving it. In fact, many of them had rolled with the theme and were wearing Easter egg pins on the lapels of their blazers, or bunny ears on their heads. Bucky didn't have the heart to tell them it was a uniform violation.

"Disgusting, isn't it," came a sad sigh from behind him, and when Bucky glanced over his shoulder he was greeted by Coulson's glum face. "I mean it's all well and good to be getting into the holiday spirit, but who's going to clear all this up?"

"I'll help," Bucky suggested, but Coulson shook his head.

"Stark can do it by himself."

"Why Stark?"

"Because this was _obviously_ the doings of Tony Stark."

The more Bucky took in the frightening attempts at decoration around him, the more he was inclined to agree. "You're probably right."

Coulson looked grim. "Poor Pepper."

"Will Fury let him get away with this?"

The older man sighed, shaking his head. "Somehow, every single year, he manages to get away with it. We're not too sure how."

"Considering the state of the hallway I'm a little impressed."

Coulson blinked sadly at the gigantic banner hanging off the wall at the other end of the corridor. "Everyone always says that."

Bucky shrugged. "You gotta give it to him, he did well putting all this up in one night. It's a Monday morning for god's sake, who wants to spend their Sunday night pulling shit like this?"

"He enlists the help of some of his minions," Darcy supplied as she drifted past, carrying a stack of forms under one arm. "No way could he do all this alone."

"If you have names you're under obligation to tell me!" Coulson yelled after her, voice mostly swallowed by the clamour of the students around them, and Bucky could hear her laughing as she disappeared into Pepper's classroom.

Bucky turned to Coulson with a grin, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "Relax, Phil. Just let them have a couple of days before we take it all down. They only get a two-week Easter vacation anyway."

"But what about the students who don't celebrate Easter? Isn't this considered offensive?"

Bucky shrugged, glancing around the corridor again. "Whatever way you look at it this shoddy attempt at Easter decoration should be considered offensive by everyone, Christians and others alike. But it's something different than what they're used to, and the kids like that."

"They also like seeing us run around like headless chickens trying to catch the culprit."

Bucky snorted. "That too." He glanced down at his watch. "Sorry but I gotta run, I've got a class to teach in ten."

Coulson held up his hands. "Not an issue, I should get going myself. I'll see you later."

Bucky smiled and nodded in agreement before heading down the packed hallway towards his classroom. When he finally made it, unlocked the door and escaped the rush of students by throwing himself inside, he discovered that Clint Barton had made himself at home sitting at his desk.

"Hey there," Bucky said in greeting, dropping his bag to the floor and kicking it under his desk, moving to shrug his jacket off his shoulders.

"Morning," Clint responded with a nod. "It's packed today for some reason. I think the kids are all too busy taking in the Easter decor to get to their classes on time."

Bucky shrugged. "They've got ten minutes still, it's all good." He perched himself off the edge of his desk, crossing his arms and waggling his eyebrows at Clint. "So. You asked Nat to move in, huh?"

Clint grinned. "She told you."

"Obviously. Why didn't _you_ tell me?!"

"I figured you had other stuff to worry about," Clint replied sincerely, and when Bucky made to grimace or maybe to roll his eyes he added, "Besides, I knew she'd tell you anyway."

"I know her answer," Bucky said proudly, but Clint just gave him the finger.

"So do I, you dickhead, she already said yes."

"Oh." Bucky crinkled his nose. "That's anticlimatic. Congratulations?"

"Yeah, yeah."

Bucky grinned; he didn't miss the way Clint's eyes flashed with excitement, and the way he was forcing himself not to actually beam. He was happy for them, he really was. He kicked the single leg of the wheely chair so Clint was pushed backwards a few inches. He _wasn't_ happy enough that he was going to let Clint get away with mooching. "Get out of my chair."

"I was here first," the other man said in protest, but got to his feet none the less.

Triumphant, Bucky slid into his chair. "So what's the deal with the Easter Egg Hunt, huh? Is that an annual thing?"

Clint made a face. "Yeah. But I wouldn't call it a 'hunt', so much as a complete annihilation."

Bucky frowned, "What does that-"

The phone on his desk errupted into shrill ringing, causing Bucky to start and Clint to jerk backwards slightly. Bucky sighed in relief upon realisation that it was the phone, picking it up and rolling his eyes. "Barnes."

"Bucky? It's me, I'm really sorry to call but I tried Clint's line already and there was no answer- is Tasha with you? She was supposed to meet me in the gym five minutes ago, and-"

"Steve," Bucky said automatically out of surprise- he'd be lying if he said his heart didn't miss a beat.

Clint's brows knitted in confusion for a moment before his face split into a wide grin. "He called you!" He hissed, kicking Bucky excitedly in the shin.

Bucky shushed him with a glare. "Uh, no, she's not h- _Stop,_  Barton! Sorry. She's not here. Try her room?"

"I already did. Do you know if she's in today?"

"I don't- let me ask;" he held the phone away from his ear for a second, turning to Clint. "Is Nat in today?"

Clint nodded. "I gave her a lift. I think she's with Fury."

Bucky raised the receiver again, "She's with Fury."

"Oh, okay. Thank you."

"That's okay," Bucky dismissed, clearing his throat. "Uhh. Bye then."

Steve's voice was hesitant when he replied, "Bye."

Bucky hung up the phone, exhaling deeply, and that was odd because he hadn't even realised he'd been holding his breath.

"Sooo," Clint waggled his eyebrows, "He called you, huh?"

"Shut up," Bucky muttered, swiping at the back of his friend's head, "He was looking for Nat."

"But he called _you_."

"He said he'd tried you first."

Clint shrugged. "Technicality. He still called you."

"So fucking what?"

" _So_ , it means you're back on good terms again! He's willing to talk to you about trivial stuff!"

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "He was asking after someone, Clint, I don't think it's the same thing. And besides, we're trying to get over all the weirdness. We broke up, and that's fine, it's just something we have to deal with now. We're trying to make it work and people constantly bugging me about how fuckin' perfect we are for each other is just making it harder, okay? So shut the fuck up. It's difficult enough as it is. I'm handling it. Stop meddling."

"Can you just let me have my fun? For five minutes? Really, Barnes, I don't ask for much."

At this, Bucky had to grin. "Yeah, whatever, loser." He reached up to brush a hand through his hair- and god, when had it gotten that long? It was almost shoulder length now. He'd be able to tie it back soon.

Clint was still staring at him, a knowing look on his face.

Given the circumstances, Bucky let out a sigh. "I mean okay, _maybe_ I could use a bit of a haircut, but other than that I'm handling everything just fine."

Clint waggled his eyebrows. "Whatever you saaay- Oh hey and before I forget, Tasha mentioned that you were thinking of getting more tattoos, is that true?"

Bucky nodded. "I am, yeah." 

"I was thinking I might get one," Clint mused, "Do you think Tasha would like it?"

Bucky shrugged. "That depends on what you get, I guess. Not her name."

"I wouldn't get her name," Clint snorted, "That's so stupid. Nah, I was thinking about an arrow maybe. Along my forearm."

"An arrow?"

"Yeah. Does that sound dumb?"

"Not really," Bucky told him, "You could do a lot of cool things with that. It's all about the details."

The door to Bucky's classroom was shoved open, and the first handful of his students spilled inside, chattering loudly and excitedly about things that Bucky couldn't really hear and probably wouldn't understand anyway.

Clint clearly took this as his cue to leave. "For the record," he said as he picked up his bag from the floor, "You'd look badass with more tattoos. Adds to the whole badass veteran vibe you've got going, you know?" He gave Bucky a wink before heading towards the exit, disappearing amongst the throng of students in the corridor.

Bucky barely had a second to himself before someone else was calling to him.

"Sir," Wade Wilson was yelling as he entered, flapping his arms about like a madman; "Sir, have you seen the huge poster?"

"I think it's safe to assume that I have, yes."

"Are you gonna participate?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow as Wade took his seat. "In an Easter egg hunt? I'm pretty sure that's mostly for you guys' entertainment."

"Oh, it's not an Easter egg hunt. It's a battle. An _every-man-for-himself_ battle."

"What he means," Gwen Stacy supplied as she sat down in her usual seat in the front row, "is that it's effectively an Easter egg _fight_."

Bucky was often grateful to have Gwen there to interpret things Wade said, because nine times out of ten they didn't make sense to him. The only thing he could think to say in response was, "Don't tell me it's with real eggs."

Gwen nodded gravely.

Wade was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "It's my favourite time of year."

"Oh, I'll bet it is."

Within a few more seconds the rest of the class had taken their seats and Bucky was able to start the lesson, but whenever there was a lapse in the lesson his mind invariably drifted back to the concept of an Easter egg battle. How would it work? Would people just start throwing eggs at each other? Were there any rules? He supposed he'd find out on Friday, but it was only Monday still and his curiosity was getting the best of him. He needed to know whether or not to avoid it. He'd have to ask Natasha.

Three hours later, when Bucky, Clint, Natasha and Bruce were all sat at a table eating lunch, he did just that.

"Can any of you guys tell me what the deal is with the Easter egg battle?" He questioned loudly over the sounds of chattering students. He reached for his orange juice. "Because I haven't been able to get any actual details out of anyone yet."

"Oohh," Bruce said, looking down at the table and shaking his head. "It's quite the experience."

"Have you ever played laser tag?" Natasha asked him, lifting up her napkin to wipe a spot of tuna from her salad off her lip.

"No, but I understand the concept."

"Right. It's basically exactly like that. Everyone hides around the outside of the school, and everyone gets a basket of eggs, and you have to throw them at people. If you get hit by an egg, you're out."

"Okay," Bucky said slowly, "So are there, like, teams, or...?"

Clint nodded. "It's usually divided up into year groups."

"So how do you determine the winner?"

"The winner's the year group with the most people standing at the end of the half-hour."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, "It only lasts half an hour?"

"Yup."

"That's _mental_. That is _so_ much drama for just half an hour."

"I didn't go last year," Bruce admitted with a shudder. "The thought of being covered in raw egg again just put me off."

"So the teachers count as a team?"

"All those willing to play, yeah. If you don't wanna get involved you better fucking hide, or else you're going to get plastered from head to toe in egg mess." Bruce gave Bucky a look. "They always go for the teachers first, as you can probably imagine."

"How does Fury not manage to shut this down every year?"

Clint shrugged, mouth full of sandwich as he replied, "I think he's decided it's best to let Tony have one outlet at the very least. Otherwise, we'd be screwed like this _all_ the time." 

Bucky thought about that for a moment before deciding Clint was probably right and going back to his pasta. "Are any of you gonna take part this year, then? Because I have to say, guys, it's not sounding like a whole lot of fun to me."

Natasha and Clint shared a look.

"I'll do it if you will," he offered.

Natasha crinkled her nose. "Can I think about it? It's a Friday after all, the other option is to go home early."

"Would you rather go catch a movie or something then?"

"Bruce?" Bucky questioned once he realised he wasn't going to get anything concrete out of the other two, who were now absorbed in their own conversation.

The science teacher shook his head. "No, absolutely not. It's my wife's birthday, I can't go home smelling like egg."

Bucky grinned at him. "What've you gotten her for her birthday?"

"You know, I wasn't actually sure what to get her, but then I went into Manhattan with my brother-in-law last weekend and-"

Bucky's phone was the one that interrupted him, vibrating loudly on the table and nearly succeeding in knocking Natasha's mug of mint tea to the ground. Bucky gave Bruce an apologetic look, ignoring the sharp glare that Natasha sent his way, before picking up the phone and saying into the reciever, "Hello?"

"Winter? Здравствуйте! Я получил Ваше сообщение!" _(Tr: Hello! I got your message!)_

"Alexei," Bucky grinned into the phone, turning away from the rest of the group and holding the phone closer to his ear in an attempt to hear better. He stuck to English, if only for Clint's sake, because even though he couldn't see him he knew that the other man would be trying (not at all) discreetly to listen in on his conversation. He didn't really mind. "How are you?"

"I am well, very well," replied the jolly man with the thick Russian accent on the other end of the line. "So you're thinking of expanding the collection, are you? I have to say, I'm not surprised. I always pegged you as the type."

Bucky wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he just agreed. "Just need a distraction I guess." Bucky absently ran his fingers along his left forearm. "Have you got any space this week?"

"This week? For a distraction? That's very fast, old friend, have you considered this in enough detail?"

Bucky shrugged, before remembering that duh, this was a phone conversation, and the tattoo artist couldn't actually see him. "I'm tired of thinking things through," he answered honestly, "Let's just do it, yeah?"

"If you insist," came the reply, and then Bucky heard a shuffling of paper and the squeak of a wheely chair before Alexei's voice drifted back to him- he guessed he'd been put on speaker phone.

"It'll take more than one appointment, of course, but we can get started as soon as... What are you doing Friday?"

Bucky genuinely let out a sigh of relief. "Wouldn't you believe it," he said after a few seconds of mentally thanking Jesus, "Friday is _perfect_."

 

*

 

When Bucky finally showed up to work on Friday he had a sore arm and a slight headache, but aside from that he felt pretty damn good. Alexei had managed to get over half of the outlines for the clockwork on his arm done in their first three-hour appointment, and although he still had three appointments to go he was already feeling positive about the tattoo. He knew he was going to love it; he could just tell. So he was in a decent mood.

Not to mention he'd managed to get out of participating in Tony's Easter egg thing- it had been due to take place at 11am, and it was now 12:20, so Bucky figured it was safe to assume that he was out of the danger zone.

This changed as soon as he stepped inside.

Bucky had been under the impression that the battle had been due to take place outside- however, within seconds of entering the school he discovered that he had been sorely mistaken.

Everything was covered in egg.

 _Everything_.

In fact, the extent of the damage was so great that Bucky wasn't even sure what to do. He just stood in the corridor, three feet from the front door, and stared blankly at the mess in front of him. There was tissue paper and streamers covering the floor and stuck to some of the lockers, and the sheer amount of raw egg and egg shells that had been smashed against the walls, the floor, and in some cases even the ceiling was enough to stun Bucky into complete silence. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, truthfully, but this hadn't been it.

He hoped his classroom was okay.

It was then that Nick Fury emerged from the door marked 'Reception', adjusting his eye patch with one eye, and seemingly unbothered by the shitshow that was his surroundings. He even had an unmistakeable egg stain on the front of his shirt. He glanced up and, upon meeting Bucky's eye, raised a hand in greeting.

Bucky just stared blankly at him, mouth hanging open.

"Every year," was all he said in his deep and intimidating voice, shaking his head slightly as he glanced around the hallway. "It looks this bad every year. If Stark didn't manage to clean it up spotlessly by Saturday morning I probably wouldn't let him do it at all."

"Probably," Bucky echoed, unable to get rid of the incredulous note in his voice.

The headmaster chuckled. "Guy like that needs an outlet. As long as it doesn't get out to the press I'm taking no issues with it." He didn't say another word and carried on his way, disappearing around the corner.

Bucky was still standing in the exact same place, unable to speak, and staring around in horror. His arm was really stinging now, and he didn't think he'd ever seen this much egg in his life.

(He was even more shocked when, on Monday, school resumed as normal and there wasn't a single trace of egg on anything. He tried to ask Natasha more about it, but she wasn't much help.

"But what _happened_ , Nat?!"

"You just had to be there.")

  

*

 

As far as Steve was concerned, 10am on a Sunday was definitely the wrong time to start fucking around with your furniture.

Not that it was any of his business of course- if Natasha wanted to move in with Clint then that was their choice, and he was happy for them. He really was, whether it seemed a little hurried or not. As he understood it, the pair of them didn't see any point in dragging things out- they made a decision and they followed through, quickly and efficiently, and that was that. Apparently Natasha's lease was due to expire next month anyway, and they'd wanted to be together over Easter break or something, so they had decided to just go for it. But anyway, it was none of Steve's business... Except it _was_ his business, Steve reminded himself sourly, because Tasha had texted him the night before and asked him to help her load some of her stuff into a removal van.

At 10am.

On a _Sunday_.

Sighing loudly even though no one could hear him, he traipsed reluctantly up the two flights of stairs to Natasha's hole-in-the-wall apartment in the shiftier side of Queens. He hadn't noticed a removal van outside, so he could only assume that Natasha was planning to drive all of her stuff over to Clint's place herself. Except that Natasha didn't have a car, and Steve as he knocked on the door of apartment 2b he was suddenly filled with the realisation that he'd definitely, definitely been played-

"You came!" Natasha exclaimed as the door was enthusiastically flung open to reveal her sweatpants-clad figure. "I kind of figured you weren't gonna."

"I struggled to motive myself enough to get here," Steve admitted as his friend moved aside to let him entire, "But I managed it."

"Well, I'm glad you did," Natasha told him, ushering him through the apartment (which was a total mess; everything was either strewn across the floor or already in boxes) and into the tiny kitchen, pointing him towards the coffee pot. "My other helpers aren't exactly being very, well. Helpful."

"Who else is here?" Steve questioned as he poured himself a coffee, closing his eyes for a second as he took a sip and basking in the warm and lively glow that caffeine could provide.

"Clint, Pepper and James."

Steve tried to pretend that one of those names didn't affect him more than the others. "And none of them are helping?"

The redhead rolled her eyes. "Pepper is helping. She's in the bathroom putting stuff in the cabinets into a box. Clint is being decidedly _less_ helpful, despite this all being his idea; he's pretending to go through my books when, in reality, I _know_ he's trying to look for a porn collection that just doesn't exist."

When Steve raised his eyebrows, she shot him a look. "Two things; the internet exists, and I'm not the type. Anyway, he's not doing a great job of helping."

Steve cleared his throat, trying to make the next words sound inconspicuous, "And Bucky?"

The fact that Natasha didn't even grace him with a snarky remark only highlighted her irritation. "He's being completely useless. The _king_ of useless actually, long may he reign."

Steve shifted uncomfortably on the spot. "So, uh... Shall we get started?"

The pleased expression on her face was back, and she immediately took hold of his non-mug-carrying arm and steered him back into the living room and towards the TV- which Steve noted was on, but muted- and said, "I have a lot of DVDs, if you wouldn't mind putting them all in that box there? Clint's agreed to let me use the shelf under _his_ TV that he only ever uses for action figures to store them."

Steve wasn't really listening; he was far more interested in the lightly sleeping man on the couch that was facing the TV- the one with the long hair and undeniable dark circles under his eyes.

Natasha noticed him staring, and did nothing except roll her eyes. "He's napping," she explained for no apparent reason, because Steve had eyes and could see that that seemed to be the situation. "He's only been here half an hour; first thing he does is wander over to my couch and complain about how badly he slept and say he's gonna take a nap."

"He looks tired," Steve commented softly, watching as Bucky shifted slightly in his sleep.

Natasha wasn't having any of it. "He's napping," she huffed again, "when he should be working. Come on, Rogers, start sorting." She patted the huge pile of DVDs next to the television before flouncing away- and seriously, Natasha was the only woman Steve knew who was capable of flouncing while wearing ratty old sweatpants and a tanktop. He couldn't help but feel slightly frustrated at her lack of sympathy- Bucky was clearly exhausted- but then again, she knew him better than Steve did, and judging by the way things had been going recently, she probably knew something he didn't that validated her vexation. So he kept his mouth shut and obediently starting piling DVDs into the flimsy cardboard box that would almost certainly not take their weight.

Five minutes of careful stacking went by before Pepper emerged from the bathroom, juggling a box herself, and she gave Steve a warm smile once she noticed him. "Hey there," she said, "how long've you been here?"

"Only about ten minutes," Steve shrugged as he deposited 'The Great Escape' into the box. "You?"

"An hour or so."

Steve shot her a look of barely concealed horror. "You got here at 9? On a Sunday?" 

Pepper seemed amused. "You think I get a lot of lie-ins at home with Tony, do you? He's always up at the crack of dawn fiddling with some science project; I could've been here earlier if I didn't have to swing by the school to drop off some papers first."

Steve shook his head, scandalised. "I don't know how you do it, Pep. Really, I don't."

"I thought you always used to pride yourself in being a morning person," she teased.

"I did," Steve agreed, "And I always _used_ to be a morning person. You know, I'm not entirely sure when that changed. I must be getting old." He could hear voices coming from the direction of the bedroom, and assumed that Natasha had finally confronted Clint on the not-helping issue.

He could also hear Bucky begin to stir on the couch behind where Steve was kneeled on the floor, and Steve had to restrain himself from looking over his shoulder at him. He simply took a sip of his coffee and pretended not to notice. He wasn't sure that a bleary-eyed, faintly confused and sleepy Bucky Barnes was something that he was yet capable of handling sensibly. Fortunately his patience wasn't fated to be tested today, because Steve could hear the unmistakeable sound of Natasha's footsteps and then a loud ' _whoomph_ ', followed by a short squeal of pain.

"Agh! Fuck! What?!" Bucky's voice was husky from sleep and Steve wanted to die.

"Get off your lazy god damn ass and help me pack my shit!"

When Steve finally worked up the courage to turn around he saw Bucky on the floor, nursing his arm and glaring at Natasha, with the redhead returning the glare in full force.

"I never wanted to come in the first place," Bucky muttered as his eyes drifted back down to his arm. "I fucking hate helping people move. It's hell for me, Nat. _Hell_. я сказал вам, что я не хотел участвовать в этом." _(I told you, I don't want to participate in this.)_

"Too bad," she told him, "Because best friends help other best friends move out. It's in the code."

"Do best friends shove each other off couches too?" Bucky shot back.

"Only when best friends are being more useless than normal," Natasha snapped, and Steve could be wrong, but he was pretty sure there was no real venom in her voice. He was getting better at figuring out when she actually wanted her words to bite.

This hypothesis was then confirmed when Natasha ruffled Bucky's hair affectionately as she walked past him, heading for where Pepper was attempting to stack her box on top of another one by the front door. Bucky swiped her away with a roll of his eyes.

Steve found himself wishing he could still touch Bucky like that, but he quickly shoved the idea out of his head. There was no point thinking stuff like that, it would only make things harder. Instead he turned his attention back to what was left of the DVDs, but even that didn't last very long.

"Oh," he heard Bucky say in a somewhat strangled voice after just a few seconds, "Steve."

Steve turned around again, offering him a forced smile. "Hi."

Bucky ran one hand through his hair, seeming to be immensely interested in a spot on the floor. Although things had definitely been less tense between them lately, Steve noticed that Bucky still couldn't quite look him in the eye. "You helping Nat?"

Steve raised an eyebrow, not intending to be sarcastic until the words, "No, I'm just here to rifle through her stuff," had already left his mouth.

Bucky didn't reply to that, getting to his feet instead, but Steve could've sworn he saw the other man's lips twitch.

It was then that Clint came barrelling out of the bedroom, almost colliding with Bucky before he threw himself bodily onto the couch and curling up in the fetal position as if something was about to explode behind him.

"What the fuck," Bucky and Natasha said at the same time, whereas Pepper jumped about a foot in the air and Steve jerked backwards so hard that he smacked the back of his head against the wall. He winced, lifting a hand to rub at his head, and he was still trying to massage out the pain when Clint finally decided to explain himself;

"I'm _not_ joking, there is _the_ world's most fuck-off spider in that room right now."

Pepper let out a loud and obvious snort of laughter, and Clint turned to glare at her.

"I'm serious Pep! It's like the size of my _face_."

"You're such a baby," Natasha muttered from where she was busy taking picture frames one-by-one off the mantlepiece. "James, go help Clint with the spider."

"I, uh," said Bucky, giving her a nervous look, "I'd rather, kind of like, _not_ do that, if possible?"

"You're kidding," Natasha deadpanned, turning to face him with her hands on her hips. The look she shot him was cutting. "James, you're not seriously telling me you're afraid of spiders."

Clint's head appeared from over the back of the couch. " _That_ ," he began dramatically, thrusting a finger towards the bedroom, "is no ordinary spider. That _thing_ is the size of a god damn plate, it's the biggest spider I have _ever_ _seen_ , Tash. _Ever_ , in my _life_." 

"Oh _come on_ -"

"I'm also temporarily handicapped," Bucky announced for good measure, waving his arm around. Steve wondered what he'd done to it.

"You're being ridiculous and childish, the pair of you."

Bucky held up his hands in surrender. "I'm already here against my will, I'm not handling pest control on top of that. Nat, I _hate_ spiders."

By this point Pepper had donned a pair of rubber gloves and was heading towards Natasha's bedroom.

"You're a grown-ass man!" Natasha said incredulously, "You've been _shot_ before James, and you're _honestly_ telling me that you can't handle a _little_ -"

Pepper let out a sharp gasp from the door, and Steve was grateful that he'd shuffled forwards slightly or he would've bashed his head again in surprise.

"Holy _crap_ ," Pepper was saying,"that beast is _huge_ -"

"I told you," Clint shot, glaring at the back of Pepper's head. "I fucking _said_ it was huge."

Bucky slowly sat down on the couch beside Clint, clearing his throat.

Natasha shot the pair of them a look of exasperation, glancing over at Pepper's retreating figure, then turned helplessly to Steve. "Rogers, what about you?"

Steve didn't move. "Uhh..."

Jeez, if looks could kill. Natasha glared at him, "You scared of spiders as well?"

"Not _scared_ , per se," he began in a diplomatic tone of voice in an attempt to avoid being yelled at, but he didn't get to finish because Natasha interrupted him with a loud and resigned sigh.

"Fine," she said, "Fine, fine, I'll deal with it." She stalked off into the kitchen to retrieve the rubber gloves.

"Kill it," Clint said at the same time Pepper suggested, "Put it outside." They stared at each other for a moment, sizing each other up.

"We can't kill it," Pepper said eventually, "That's not fair."

"It's a freak of nature, it needs to die. Bucky agrees with me, right Bucky?"

Bucky held up his hands. "I mean, I haven't actually seen the thing, but if it's as huge as you guys say it probably shouldn't be reproducing."

"Seconded," Steve agreed, raising a hand.

Pepper gave him a betrayed look.

Natasha reemerged from the kitchen, head held high and gloves firmly in place. "Right," she muttered as she marched towards the bedroom without making eye contact with any of them, "I'll fucking handle this." She disappeared through the door.

Clint got to his feet and, keeping a safe distance, tried to peer through the door to see what was going on. "Didja get it?" He called out to her in a raised voice, "Is it dead?"

There was no reply.

Bucky was shaking his head. "Nat's definitely dead. It killed her. May she rest in peace. Or burn in hell, either-" 

Clint thrust a hand against his chest like he was wounded. "Don't say that," he gasped theatrically, "My heart can't take it-"

Natasha appeared again, and Steve felt himself go green at the sight of the monstrous spider she had clutched in both hands. _Both hands_. Clint hadn't lied; the beast was massive, easily the size of a plate, and Steve's mouth hung open in genuine horror as Natasha moved bravely from her bedroom to the nearest window, hands clasped firmly around the spider. He was sure he'd never see such courage, or such a fucked-up example of what Mother Nature can really do, again.

Clint gagged as its legs visibly twitched. "Oh god," he said, covering his eyes, "I can't even _look_ at it. Tash, you're an inspiration."

By this point Pepper had practically left the room. She stood as far away from Natasha as it was possible to be, and even then she looked both horrified and vaguely threatened.

"Fucking hell," Bucky was saying in a faux-calm tone, "Fuuucking hell."

Natasha shot him a wicked grin, taking a step towards him, "Wanna hold it?"

Bucky jumped straight off the couch and took a couple steps back, holding his arms up in a motion of surrender, and Steve had to quickly sidestep out of the way or Bucky would've backed straight into him. 

" _Keep that very far away from me._ "

Natasha just gave him an icy stare and made as if she was going to throw it at him.

Bucky let out a noise that sounded like a choked back scream and grabbed a hold of Steve's arm to hide himself behind it, using him as somewhat of a human shield, and Steve was so stunned by this sudden contact that he actually felt his heart momentarily stop. Bucky's skin felt like fire against his own, felt like ice; simultaneously felt like home and felt like freefall. His entire body had gone into panic mode because _Bucky was touching him, Bucky was holding his arm, Bucky's fingers were digging into his skin and they were standing so close together that Steve could practically feel the man's breath on the side of his neck._  

But the contact between them didn't last long, because as soon as Natasha had turned away and Clint had rushed to her aid to open the window Bucky let go of Steve's arm so fast it was like he'd been burned. 

"Sorry," he said gruffly, quickly taking a few steps sideways to put more space between them, but Steve was unable to do anything in response except nod silently and pray to god that he wasn't blushing as much as he felt he was. 

Steve watched as Clint pried the window open and jumped backwards about a foot, and Natasha flung the huge spider outside before quickly slamming the window closed and tugging off the rubber gloves. 

"There you go," she announced with a roll of her eyes, "Problem solved."

Clint immediately tackled her in a crushing hug. "My saviour," he cried dramatically, and Natasha was seemingly too amused to shove him away. Instead, she just rolled her eyes again, but Steve didn't miss the way her lips twitched upwards in a small smile.

Bucky clasped a hand against his heart and collapsed back down onto the couch with a sigh of relief. "Thank god. I mean, it's still alive so it could come back, but at least we have a few moments of peace."

"Killing it would've been wrong," Pepper argued as she rejoined the rest of them in the middle of the room. "We have no right to kill bugs like that. It wasn't doing anyone any harm."

"It was giving me heartburn," Bucky argued, "That can be harmful."

"Are you guys done with these boxes here?" Natasha was asking, having extracted herself from Clint's arms and crossed the room to the pile of cardboard boxes by the front door. "Is that why they're here?"

Pepper nodded, "That's right."

"Can someone start loading these into Steve's car?"

"You know," Steve said pointedly, "If you wanted to borrow my car you could've just _asked_ , instead of clandestinely asking for my help packing."

Natasha grinned at him. "Can I borrow your car?"

Steve rolled his eyes, unable to refrain from grinning back. "Sure." 

Clint raised a hand, "I'll help load them."

"No, Clint, I need your help with the kitchen stuff. James can do it."

Bucky stared at her, affronted. " _James_ isn't getting involved."

"Well that's too bad, because James is here and James is going to fucking help if he wants me to pay for dinner later," Natasha shot back, and this seemed to work because Bucky got to his feet with a quiet grumble of "I hate you so much" and began to walk purposely slowly towards the boxes by the door.

"Steve will help too," Natasha decreed as she disappeared into the kitchen, and well, _oh no_. Bucky visibly stopped in his tracks. Steve fixed Clint with a helpless look.

Clint just shrugged, following Natasha through to the other room, and giving a petulant-looking Bucky a pat on the back as he passed him.

Pepper was eyeing the pair of them with a raised eyebrow, clearly noticing the reluctance in the air, but before she had the chance to voice an opinion Bucky had reached the other side of the room and picked up a box.

He fixed Steve with a resigned expression, opening the door with his elbow, "Are you coming?"

And hell, Steve had never really been able to tell him no. "Yeah," he sighed, crossing the room in only a couple of strides and reaching down to pick up a box of his own- a surprisingly heavy one that seemed to either contain a collection of bricks or an entire human body.

Bucky held the door open for him to pass through first, and that alone made Steve's cheeks flush red. Today was shaping up to be pretty fucking weird.

Steve crossed to the other side of the hallway and pressed the button on the elevator with a sigh, shifting the weight of the box absently from one arm to the next. He heard Natasha's front door click shut behind him, and then a quiet clearing of someone's throat;

"I'm, uh, I'm gonna take the stairs."

"Oh shit," Steve swore, turning on the spot to face Bucky and noticing immediately that the other man was avoiding his gaze. "Yeah, of course. I'll come with you. It's, um, it's not that far down."

"No," Bucky agreed, "It's not."

They spent the rest of the journey down the two flights of stairs in almost total (painful and awkward) silence, with Steve glancing over at Bucky every few seconds, but always looking away too quickly to tell if Bucky ever looked back. If Steve was honest, Bucky looked a little rough- if Steve was _brutally_ honest, he looked like hell. He looked like he hadn't slept in months. And okay, he seemed slightly better than he had two weeks ago, but it wasn't... He wasn't the same. He just looked shattered and a little pathetic and nothing like the man Steve had met eight months previously. God, had it really only been eight months ago? 

When they reached Steve's car however, and took turns in piling their boxes into the trunk, the silence was broken as both men tried to speak at the exact same time:

"You look-"

"How-"

They both stopped, staring at each other. Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets, quickly looking away. "Right, sorry, you go."

"No, you-"

"Steve," Bucky interrupted, "Talk." 

Steve cleared his throat. "It's nothing, really. I was just gonna say, you um, you look tired."

Bucky was staring at him like he was an idiot, and Steve _felt_ like an idiot for even saying anything.

"Bad night," was all the explanation Bucky gave, and it was said in such a monotone and empty voice that it made Steve's heart wrench painfully.

He took a breath. "I'm sorry to hear-"

"How'd Natasha rope you into helping?" Bucky interrupted him again, and it was pretty clear from his body language that he wanted the topic dropped.

Reluctantly, Steve went along with it. "She just texted and asked for my help. Used pouty emojis and everything. I couldn't say no. What about you?"

Bucky frowned, scratching at the back of his head and drawing Steve's attention to his hair- which was getting really quite long, now Steve thought about it. "I wasn't gonna come, but then she gave her cat to Clint beforehand and promised me dinner."

Steve smiled a little hesitantly. "No booze?" He half teased.

Bucky crinkled his nose. "She cut me off last week."

"That's rough."

"Isn't it?"

Steve shrugged. "I can kind of see her point, though. You really shouldn't be drinking if you're taking-"

"We should get more boxes," Bucky said, cutting him off and slamming the trunk of the car unceremoniously shut. He took off, heading for the entrance to Natasha's building.

Steve winced, locking the car and quickly following. "Bucky, hey, I didn't mean- I'm sorry if I-"

"It's too weird," Bucky was saying, shaking his head. He came to a stop by the foot of the stairs, turning to face Steve with a pained expression. "You know? This is just _too_ _weird_."

"I know," he replied quietly.

"I thought I could do it, you know? The whole 'be civil' thing. It didn't seem too hard, I mean, people do it all the time."

"It'll get easier," Steve said, but he wasn't sure if he was trying to reassure Bucky or reassure himself.

Bucky let out a deep sigh, bringing one hand up to rub his face. "Maybe we should set up some ground rules or something," he suggested after a few seconds. "You know, like topics of conversation that we just have to avoid."

"Right," he half agreed without even thinking, "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, for one, me. Don't... Don't talk about that. Please."

Steve swallowed. "Why?"

Bucky shot him a look, "Why do you think, Steve? It's bad enough dealing with Natalia trying to corner me on a daily basis and ask about my mental health, she doesn't need a god damn partner in crime."

"I'm just worried about you," Steve said quietly, his heart wrenching, watching the other man's guarded expression. "And I mean, I can stop talking to you about it, but the worrying isn't gonna stop."

Bucky closed his eyes with a groan, letting his head fall back. "Jesus Christ."

"I'm serious! Boyfriend or not, _friend_ or not, I just want to know you're alright."

"I'm fine, there, happy?"

Steve gave him a sour look. "Not really."

"Too bad, you can deal. Ground rule number two-"

"No offence," Steve interrupted, "I mean, it's a nice idea and all, but it's a bit over the top. Isn't the whole idea of these ground rules that we just try and respect each other's boundaries and try not to let things get too uncomfortable? Can't we just use _that_ as a ground rule?"

Bucky didn't look too happy with that. "It's not specific enough."

"They don't gotta be _specific_ , Buck, just practical. I don't know about you but it's not like I'm gonna remember a list of ten fucking commandments every time we end up in the same room."

"Fine," Bucky half snapped, "what do _you_ suggest then?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Don't let conversations get too personal and try not to make a big deal out of anything. There. Sorted." He felt like his heart was shattering every time the other man so much as looked at him, but that was fine. Bucky wanted space.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably on the spot. "That's it?"

"That's it."

"... Alright. I can do that."

Steve let out a sigh of relief. "Okay. That's... Okay." He really wasn't thinking about how this was the longest conversation the pair had had since their argument.

They were already over half way back up the stairs to Natasha's apartment when Bucky spoke again.

"You know," he said, sounding a little unsure, "It's hard to go back to being friends if we were never exactly friends to begin with." 

Steve knew what he meant. They'd never been 'just friends'. There was always a tiny promise of something to follow, something more. Steve wasn't sure he could manage without that feeling. "I know."

"Where do we even start?"

Steve shrugged as they reached the top. " _This_ is a start."

Bucky let out a snort of laughter. "It's a bit shit."

Steve's lips twitched into a half smile. "It's still a start." Bucky's laugh was enough to send his stomach into knots.

Bucky seemed to be a little less tense by the time they'd crossed the hall to Natasha's door. "Took us long enough to get to this point though, didn't it? I guess that's mostly my fault."

There was nothing platonic about the way Steve's insides twisted painfully at the sight of Bucky's small, self-deprecating smile, and the way he could feel his heartbeat in his throat. He wondered if he would ever have to stop lying about being okay with just being friends.

"We can put the blame all on you, or all on me," Steve shrugged, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head because _god, I don't think I can do this_. "Or even all on circumstance. Or, we could just admit that we were both shit people and get on with it."

The blindingly brilliant smile that his comment won him burned its way into the back of Steve's brain, and he couldn't close his eyes for the next few days without wanting to break down and cry.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [this](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/67/29/07/6729073c73b020654cef2f9e1abb394b.jpg) is how i imagine bucky's tattoo's gonna look like when it's done, except instead of the little coat of arms there would be a star, similar to that on his metal arm in tws. idk i just really wanted him to get a tattoo there
> 
> come pay me a visit at [macbeth-no](http://macbeth-no.tumblr.com) on tumblr if you feel like a chat or w/e


	17. The Mess I Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikesss 
> 
> so, first things first, trigger warnings. this chapter (once again) contains a lot of them, which is why i've put a list down in the end notes (for spoiler reasons, of course). i'd hate to trigger anyone so please please please check these out if you have any specific triggers i beg of you
> 
> second, chapter 17!! wow it only took me a fucking month lmao. i'd make excuses about how busy i've been but really i just have zero motivation and a deeply-rooted procrastination problem. anyway, i was looking back on chapter 1 of this the other day and noticed that as of August 17th, i've been writing this crazy thing for an entire year which is just, wow, kind of hard to believe? i really never thought it would come this far and get so LONG, i mean damn, it's long now (and also a lot sadder than i originally planned wtf)
> 
> sooo this chapter i wrote in a bit of a rush because i realised how long i'd been putting it off, so i'm sorry if it seems rushed but it's the best i got :S also, i go off to university in less than a month so my updates might end up being even more sporadic than usual? but, i promise, this will get done asap. i'm so close to finishing it completely i can SMELL the freedom
> 
> as always, i love you guys more than anything and your kind words/comments mean the world to me. thanks for holding out this long. come talk to me on [tumblr](http://macbeth-no.tumblr.com) if you want to see more of my ever-sparkling personality 
> 
>  
> 
> -cat

If you'd asked Bucky a week ago- hell, if you'd asked him _yesterday_ \- if he would ever consider going vegetarian, the answer would undoubtedly have been no, followed by a loud laugh and then a small rant about the joys of bacon.

And yet here he was, staring in horror at the TV screen, with both hands clasped over his mouth as he watched the brutal murder of three dozen chickens at a non-organic farm somewhere in the Ukraine, deciding that from now on he could no longer bring himself to eat meat. Not even a burger. Not even bacon.

"You're being a baby," Clint told him after he'd voiced his new commitment outloud, rolling his eyes and elbowing him in the ribs. "You'll definitely have forgotten all about this tomorrow."

On his other side, Natasha was gripping his arm, eyes glued to the TV. "Clint," she said, "Change of plan, we're not having chicken on the pizza tonight."

"What? Are you kidding?! I've been looking forward to this pizza since _Monday!"_

Bucky shook his head, still unable to take his eyes off the screen. "No chicken," he agreed, tone filled with mild horror, before letting out a small hiss of pain as Natasha's grip tightened on his forearm. "Nat-"

"Sorry," his friend whispered, easing her grip slightly.

Clint let out an exasperated groan, flailing his arms about and accidentally smacking a hand into Bucky's shoulder. "I can't believe you two."

"Are you not watching the same program as us?!"

"I am," Clint resisted, leaning forwards to glare at Natasha from around Bucky, "I'm just not such a pissbaby-"

"Oh don't you _start_ -"

"Children," Bucky protested, pushing his arms out to force them slightly further apart, as they had been gradually encroaching on what little space he had in the middle of the couch. "Please." 

It was a Friday night and the trio were squeezed together on the couch in Clint's (and now Natasha's) apartment. Bucky had suggested that the pair host a housewarming party, and although Clint had seemed keen Natasha shot down all plans for any kind of 'social gathering' that didn't involve just the three of them, and so the two men had given up and agreed to a pizza night in instead. By this point Bucky was so adjusted to being the third wheel that it didn't even feel weird anymore, and he was quite happy being settled in the middle of the couple as they watched a horrifying Netflix documentary about meat production.

"Trust me," Clint was saying, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the TV, "You'll both be over this by next week, and you'll be _just_ as happy to eat a beautiful medium-rare steak as me."

"Not me," Natasha declared, folding her arms. "I'm officially going vegetarian. Just watch me, Clint, fucking _watch me._ " 

"I don't know about medium-rare," Bucky admitted, wincing slightly at the thought, "But, I mean. Give me time to digest this and maybe we can talk about well-done. Give me like, a couple months. Or years. Or maybe decades-"

"You're weak," Clint told him.

Bucky shrugged, "Call me what you will, doesn't change my mind."

"Here here," Natasha said with a pointed glare at Clint.

Clint ignored her just as pointedly.

Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes. He put an arm around each of them. "Gee, I love it when you guys get along."

Natasha jabbed him in the arm in a way that was probably meant to be playful, but ended up being pretty painful.

"Ow," Bucky snapped, "that's my tattoo arm, genius-"

"Oh let me see," Clint interjected, cutting him off mid-insult. "Is it done yet?" He twisted slightly from his original position to reach across Bucky's lap and forcefully drag up the sleeve of his shirt.

Bucky let him. "No, I've got one more appointment left."

"What's there left to do?"

"See these gaps right there, and there? They're gonna be filled in."

"And then that's it?"

"That's it."

Clint gave him an impressed look. "I gotta say, Barnes, it looks pretty good."

Bucky grinned up at him. "You think?"

"We both think," Natasha agreed, linking her arm through his and giving it a much gentler squeeze. "Suits you, James."

"It does," Clint nodded.

And then Natasha got a devious glint in her eye. Bucky knew exactly what was coming before she even had a chance to open her mouth, and braced himself for the inevitable;

"Does _Steve_ like it?"

He sighed. "Why've you gotta put a pervy emphasis on his name like that?"

Clint rolled his eyes, "Because she's a perv."

Natasha shot Clint a glare before turning back to Bucky, waggling her eyebrows. "So? Does he?"

"Dunno," Bucky muttered, pulling his sleeve back down, "He hasn't seen it."

"Why not?! I bet he'd like it."

"I don't care if he likes it or not," Bucky said defensively, "Why would that matter? Stop doing this, Nat, stop bringing him up like this."

Natasha gave him a look, holding up both hands in mock surrender, "I'm just saying, if you were to hypothetically show it to him-"

"We hardly talk," Bucky snapped, "Drop it, Natalia."

"Yeah," Clint agreed, wrapping an arm around Bucky's shoulders. "Drop it."

Natasha snorted, "Oh, don't act like the bigger man here Barton, you're _just_ as invested in this shit as I am."

Bucky swivelled around to give his guilty-looking friend a betrayed look. "You talk about me with her? Behind my back? I thought we were bros." _  
_

"I'm sorry! I did try to convince her to let it go, honestly, I did."

"Obviously you gave up at some point," Bucky said blandly, crossing his arms and refusing to look at either of them. "I don't like you two. You've got ulterior motives and despite me telling you both _countless times_ -"

"But Jaaames," Natasha whined, "You guys are _soulmates_ -"

"Not to mention," Clint added, "the fact that it's been over two months since you guys ended things and there's _still_ this weird chemistry going on that creates awkward tension whenever you're in a room together."

"I don't want to talk about this."

Natasha huffed, "Fine, then we won't talk about it. But he's right."

"Nat, what did I _just_ say?" 

Clint grinned widely as Natasha gave him a scornful look.

"That you don't wanna talk about it. But-"

"One more word out of you and I'm ordering you a meatlover's pizza."

Natasha gasped like she'd been shot. "You wouldn't dare!"

Bucky grinned, "Wanna bet?"

She glared at him for a moment, before a wicked glint appeared in her eyes. "You do that," she began in her faux-diplomatic voice, "And I let the cat out of the kitchen."

Bucky groaned over the sound of Clint's clumsy laughter, dragging a hand down his face. "I just can't win, can I?"

 

 *

 

It was only lunchtime, and Bucky wasn't having a good day. In fact, he was having a decidedly Not Good Day. A Terrible Day. He'd woken up with a headache and a pretty negative state of mind, and by the looks of it things weren't going to get a whole lot better.

He was still sickened by the sight of meat thanks to Friday night's documentary, and the only options on the day's lunch menu had been either lasagna or a hot dog. When he'd requested a vegetarian option, the lunch lady had just given him an odd stare and replied with, "Sorry?"

He therefore decided to skip lunch and come back to his classroom. He had a shit ton of marking to do anyway, and he was only on his third paper when something stopped him dead in his tracks.

He read the sentence in front of him twice before he even realised what was wrong. Then he read it again, just to be sure. And then, he read it a fourth time, because it was just so completely ridiculous that he was having a hard time even comprehending it.

Then he slammed his head down onto his desk with a loud groan.

A boy called Jackson Wright, sitting quietly at his own desk at the back of the room doing a make-up test, looked up with a startled expression. "Sir? You okay?"

Bucky didn't move. Instead, he let out a loud, pained sigh. "Mexico is not in the Middle East."

"...What?"

"Mexico, Jackson, is _not_ in the Middle East."

"I... Know?"

Bucky sighed again, this time even louder. He lifted his head up off the desk, giving the boy an exasperated look. "You might, but Kelly Andrews doesn't. She's in the tenth grade, how can she not know where Mexico is? We live in the USA, for Christ's sake!"

_Fuck this, I just want to go home._

"Sir, are you allowed to discuss other students' work with me?"

Bucky shot him a sour look. "Do your test."

Jackson said nothing in response, turning back to his paper.

Bucky was just about to do the same when the door to his classroom burst open to reveal Peter Parker, who immediately looked guilty.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to slam-"

"Jackson's here doing a test, Peter."

"Sorry," he said to Bucky, then turned to the boy at the back of the room and repeated, "Sorry." He looked back at Bucky. "Can I stay in here for the rest of lunch? If that's okay?"

Bucky gestured for him to enter the room properly. "Shut the door please, come here."

Peter approached the desk quietly, glancing over at the student hunched over his desk in the back before stopping a few feet from Bucky's chair. "Sorry," he said again in a hushed voice, and Bucky fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Why do you want to stay in here?"

"I'm, uh, hiding."

"Hiding?"

"Yeah."

Bucky frowned, "Why?"

Peter gave him a look. "I'm avoiding Wade. We had an argument."

Bucky sighed for what he was sure wouldn't be the last time and buried his face in his hands. "Right. Okay, sure, you can stay in here. But only if you're dead silent, you hear me? That kid's taking a test."

"Yeah," Peter agreed quickly, "Sure, Sarge, thank you."

"It's fine. Sit there, at the front. And be quiet."

"You got it." Peter settled himself down at a desk in the front row slightly to Bucky's right, pulling a book out of his backpack.

Bucky wasted no time going back to his marking- something which, clearly, he wasn't destined to do, because not even five minutes later his door was opened _again_.

Wade Wilson strode in, looking annoyed.

"Mr Barnes, can I stay in here with you until next period? I'm-" Bucky watched in faint exasperation as his eyes darted over to Peter, and a strangely panicked expression crossed his face.

"-way behind on my history work, I think I need a study lunch," he finished in a rushed voice, refusing to look anyone in the eye and choosing instead to stare at the ground.

Bucky rested his elbows on his desk and ran both hands through his hair. _Teenagers_. "Yes," he agreed after a few seconds, waving one hand towards the sea of empty seats (bar two) in front of him. "But be quiet, please, I've got a boy doing a test at the back."

Wade very pointedly chose the seat in the front row that was at the opposite side of the room to Peter, and Bucky gave up on getting any work done. Things were too tense in his room now, it had a bad energy, and his headache only was getting worse.

So when his door was pushed open for the third time in fifteen minutes Bucky didn't even bother to look up to give the kid a greeting. 

" _Yes_ ," he said exasperatedly before whoever it was could say anything, "Fine, you can stay in here for lunch to avoid whoever it is you're avoiding, just pick a desk and be quiet."

"That's nice," came a sarcastic and very familiar male voice from his doorway. 

Bucky looked up in surprise to see his youngest brother standing just outside the classroom, sticking out like a sore thumb in the sea of uniformed students behind him with his ripped jeans and dirty t-shirt.

"Henry," he said, confused, "What're you- how did you know where my room was?"

Melissa's guilty face poked around the doorframe. "Hi, Mr Barnes."

Bucky sighed. "Right, obviously." He got to his feet, brushing his hands down the front of his shirt to smooth it out, and turned to the class of three he had sitting in front of him;

"There is to be no talking to Jackson while I'm outside, as he's doing a test, and you two," Bucky narrowed his eyes first at Wade, then at Peter, "will not argue or attempt to violently settle your differences in my classroom while I'm out, got it? This is not a warzone, it's a place of learning. So no _yelling_."

After a mumbled 'yes Sir' from Peter and an ambiguously dirty look from Wade Bucky stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft 'click'. Henry was still wearing his trademark unimpressed expression, with both hands in his pockets and one eyebrow raised at Bucky as though he was judging him for something Bucky wasn't sure he was doing wrong.

"I forget you actually work here sometimes," Henry said finally, and surprisingly it was Melissa who rolled her eyes.

"He teaches _me_. You bring this up every time we see each other."

"No, I mean, I forget he's a teacher. Like, in-charge." His attention turned back to Bucky, "No offence, but you were kind of a loser at school."

Bucky sighed, leaning back against the lockers lining the wall, "Thanks. What're you doing here?"

Henry shrugged slightly, trying to come off as indifferent, but Bucky noticed the subtle changes in his body language; the sag to his shoulders, the anxious darting of his eyes to the floor, the way he seemed to be trying too hard to be casual and it came off as sort of guilty. "Just thought I'd drop by, see how you were doing."

Melissa cleared her throat, giving Henry a pointed look as she said, "I actually promised Annie I'd meet her in the library, so..." She took a couple steps backwards, still eyeing Henry with that same expression, "Come meet me after you've talked, kay?"

"Kay," Henry agreed without taking his eyes off the ground, and Bucky raised an eyebrow.

"Does she know something I don't?"

"Everyone knows something you don't," Henry said snippily, before letting out a sigh. "Okay sorry, ignore that."

"Henry," Bucky said with a frown as he crossed his arms, "Really, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at school?"

The guilty expression was back. "I mean, technically, yeah. But I needed to talk to you."

"What about?"

His brother shifted uncomfortably. "I, um, spoke to Sebastian yesterday."

Bucky pursed his lips slightly, ignoring the nervous twitching in his stomach. "Right."

"And he might've accidentally... Let something, um, slip. About you."

Bucky sighed, hoping that this conversation wasn't going the way it seemed to be going. In a desperate attempt to veer off track he cut in, "If this is about the breakup, it was ages ago and I'm really doing okay now-"

 _"Why didn't you tell me you were depressed?"_ Henry burst out in a rushed and much louder voice than Bucky had expected, and several students' heads curiously turned their way. Bucky swore under his breath as he grabbed his brother's arm and pulled him into his classroom.

"Peter, Wade, Jackson, out," he declared, holding open the door for them. "Something important's just come up and I need my room, sorry-"

"But Sir," Jackson said timidly, "I haven't finished my test?"

"Then I'll mark what you've done and grade the average, that sound fair?"

The boy's face split into a grin. "Yeah, great! Okay." He dropped the half-completed paper onto Bucky's desk on his way out.

Peter had made a dash for the door as soon as Bucky had opened it, but Wade was a lot slower in gathering up his things.

"Today, please, Wade," Bucky sighed as the boy stalled by putting each pen back into his backpack separately.

When Wade finally trudged out of the classroom, looking sour, Bucky shut the door behind him and wheeled on his brother.

"You can't just _announce_ that here, Henry! Jesus Christ, what the fuck were you thinking? I'm at _work!"_

"Why didn't you tell me?! Did you think I'd be a dick about it?!"

"No! It's not like- not telling you wasn't _about_ you."

Henry scowled, and Bucky remembered that however grown up his brother seemed he was still only a teenager. "But you told _Seb_ ," he said bitterly, and Bucky let out a deep sigh.

"Technically, _Nat_ told Seb. Not me."

"I thought we were close."

_I can't do this today._

"We are," Bucky told him, knitting his brows together in a frown. "We're brothers."

"I thought we told each other everything, I thought that was our deal. And you didn't tell me about being gay-"

"Not gay," Bucky pointed out in a mutter.

"-and now you didn't tell me about _this_ \- both times I found out accidentally, I mean, why didn't you tell me? I would've told you, you know I would! You _know_ I keep your secrets, and I keep my word, always, and-" _  
_

"Henry," Bucky broke in softly, taking a step towards his brother, "It's not like that. I didn't not tell you because I thought I couldn't trust you."

"So how come you didn't tell me?" Henry's voice was so uncharacteristically fragile that it almost broke Bucky's heart. "Because now I feel awful, Jamie, I feel really fucking bad, because after the whole thing with Ma and Dad we just sort of let it slide- I mean obviously we didn't let it _slide_ , but I haven't gone out of my way to be _nasty_ to them all the time or anything- and I think, if I'd known-"

"That right there is why I didn't tell you."

"What?"

Bucky ran one hand through his admittedly dirty hair; he hadn't showered this morning. He woke up late, sue him. "I didn't tell you," he started again, "because if you'd known it might've changed the way you are around Ma and Dad, and I didn't think it should be something that has to have a negative effect on you. I don't need a bunch of people worrying about me all the time, especially not you guys- especially not when _you_ still live with our parents, it'll just make your life harder. Besides, I get along just fine."

"But-"

"I'm an adult, okay? You're fucking seventeen years old, you shouldn't have to worry about me, that's super fucked up."

"Did you just pull the 'you're-a-child-you-don't-understand-anything card on me?!"

Bucky blinked. "No, that's not what I-"

Henry huffed with irritation, "You totally did. I can't believe you. I thought we were friends."

Bucky let out an exasperated groan. "What do you _want_ me to say, Henry?!"

"I want you to tell me you're _okay_ ," Henry snapped, glaring at Bucky, "and I want you to _mean_ it!"

The silence that followed was Uncomfortable. With a capital U. 

"I... What?"

"You're okay, right?" Henry's voice had shrunk again now, back into uncertain territory, and another wave of guilt washed through Bucky's body. Now he'd made _two_ of his brothers feel like shit over this. He hated that he couldn't stop hurting people.

"I'm okay," he said quietly, not voicing his thoughts aloud. "I've always been okay Henry, you know that right? All of this shit that's happened, totally okay. And if I'm never Not Okay then I'll tell you. I swear. This is something I can control and something I _have been_ controlling for a pretty long time. It's not so serious, okay?" _I'm lying. I'm sorry._

Henry swallowed dryly. "If you say so."

"I do say so."

There was another Uncomfortable Silence, but this one didn't last as long as the previous one.

"I bought you some stuff," Henry offered after just a few seconds, tugging his rugged old backpack off his shoulders and unzipping the main pocket to rummage through it. "I went through your old room last week, y'know, to read your diaries and shit, and I found some stuff I guess you'd want."

"Huh," Bucky said, "Aside from the lame-ass comment about the diaries that's actually kind of nice."

"Here." His brother pulled out his high school yearbook from senior year, an ancient teddy bear that Bucky had actually owned since he was seven, and a stack of worn photographs held together by a rubber band. He placed all the items on Bucky's desk.

"There's some great old pictures in there," Henry told him as he closed up his backpack and swung it back over his shoulder. "I picked out all the best. A great one of you and Dad and Xander somewhere in the mix. Another classic of you and Sascha with mouthfuls of marshmallows at New Year's in '03."

A knot settled in the pit of Bucky's stomach; he didn't want to see them. It would hurt too much, he knew, to flick one by one through all the happy memories he'd had as a child with his family. But he couldn't tell that to his little brother; not when he'd thought he was doing the right thing by picking out his favourites to bring to Bucky.

"Thank you," he said instead, trying to sound as sincere as possible. "That was...really thoughtful, Henry. Thanks."

His brother shrugged, giving him a half smile. "It's nothing." Then he checked his watch and made a small hissing noise. "Crap, I'm late. I can't get away with cutting fifth period as well as fourth. I gotta go."

"Don't you dare tell Ma and Dad that I practically let you skip class."

Henry rolled his eyes. "Oh please," he said sarcastically, and then, "Like their stupid opinion of you could drop any lower."

He didn't show it, of course, because Henry hadn't meant it to hurt, but Bucky's battered heart gave another long, painful ache at the words. No, he didn't show it; he laughed it off. "You're right," he agreed with a forced grin. "Get back to school before they kick you out for good this time."

Henry gave him a small salute as he headed for the door. "Give me a call sometime, yeah?"

"Yeah," Bucky echoed, and then his brother had disappeared out of the classroom.

Bucky sank slowly into his desk chair, refusing to look at the photographs Henry had left on his desk, and wondered why this was happening on the one day he didn't think he could take it.

 

*

 

Bucky decided to wait until he got home to look through the photographs. It was stupid, he knew it was stupid, but every time he thought about looking back on times when he'd been happier it made him feel sick to his stomach, and he thought it would be best if he could open that door at home by himself, rather than at school surrounded by teenagers and his coworkers.

But even once he was back at his apartment it took him a while to get around to it; he wasn't putting it off, really, he _did_ have things to do. Important things, like paying bills and showering and taking his medication. And finding somewhere for his old teddy bear to live. And watching three entire episodes of Friends.

When anxiety finally got the best of him however he caved, reaching forward to grab the stack of photos off the coffee table where they'd been sitting, abandoned and face-down, for almost four hours before he 'got around' to looking at them. He pressed 'mute' on the TV remote, took a deep breath, and turned the pile over to look at the first picture.

The first one, the one on the top of the pile that is, was a black-and-white picture of his grandmother on their father's side. She'd been a stern woman, Bucky remembered- he couldn't recall ever once seeing her smile. She was a lot like his dad. It showed in the picture; she was frowning deeply at the camera, sitting in a great big armchair with a cat on her lap and her walking cane leaning against her leg. She'd had a cat from hell too, Bucky remembered _that_. The beast was huge and grouchy and extremely stealthy, and Bucky was pretty sure that his grandmother's cat had been the cause of several of his severe allergic reactions as a child. Bucky crinkled his nose and put the picture at the back of the pile.

The second photograph made him smile. It was still old, still frayed slightly around the edges, but it was in colour and was clearly much more recent as it showed a young Bucky, probably no older than 12, and a teenaged Sebastian grinning toothily at the camera from where they sat perched in a tree.

_This isn't so bad. These are actually kind of nice._

He continued like this for a while; flicking through the old photographs of him and his siblings, smiling at most of them. There was one of Alexander as a child holding a baby Henry that almost brought tears to his eyes, and another of Jessica braiding Anna's hair while Sascha and Bucky played video games in the background. But one photo was enough to make him stop dead in his tracks. In fact, it had such an immediate effect on him that he momentarily forgot how to breathe.

It was of him on a beach, probably at around age 15 or 16, with that embarrassing short, spiky hair and trademark chubby cheeks. He hadn't outgrown those until his late teens, it had been a curse. Standing either side of him were his parents; his mother, looking less plump and somehow taller, beamed straight into the camera with her already yellowing teeth- contrasting with his beanpole of a father, who stood straight as a rod with a solemn expression. Both parents had their arms around him, and young Bucky was smiling. He actually remembered when this photo was taken; they'd been on a family vacation in Florida and this had been the only day it hadn't rained, so they'd gone to the beach.

He looked so carefree, so  _happy_. He _had_ been happy. He'd been loved.

He couldn't remember the last time he felt like that. Certainly not in several months. Now, he just felt... Grey.

Bucky wasn't really sure when it started, but once the tears had started falling from his eyes they just wouldn't stop. His hands shook so badly that he actually dropped the photograph to the floor before sinking back into the couch, one trembling hand moving covering his mouth, the other clenching into a fist and unclenching again in his lap. He'd been _happy_ with his parents, they'd had a good relationship; the pictures proved that. He'd been happy, and his family had been happy, and everything had been fine. It was your typical premature happy ending.

Of course, _Xander_ hadn't really been fine, and neither had his parents, but Bucky had barely been old enough to know anything else. He was too young to understand how fluctuating his mother's weight had been, purely due to stress, and the telltale signs of his father's drinking problem. He'd been caught up in his own little world for most of his life; _how does this affect_ me _, wouldn't_ my _life be easier if, me me me I I I me me-_

 _Hell, who I am I kidding,_ he thought bitterly to himself. _I still do this now._

But he was older now, and he was far too self-aware. He knew how selfish he'd been, how selfish he _was_.

_God, why couldn't I have just stayed happy?_

Ha, and there it was again. The quiet, selfish piece of shit voice in his head that wouldn't stop pointing out how crappy his life was when really, it wasn't so bad, and he was just making things all about him again, as usual.

 _No,_ part of him thought shakily _, that's not fair. I'm allowed to be unhappy._

But it _was_ his own fault, wasn't it? He brought all the unhappiness on himself. He destroyed any chance of a good relationship with his parents because he couldn't keep his fucking mouth shut, and he'd cut himself off from Steve, and he hadn't gone to visit his dying brother in hospital when he'd had the chance. He'd burned all of his bridges of his own accord, and now he was sitting broodingly on the side of the road, staring into the river and across to the bank on the other side and kicking himself for setting them alight. He should just suck it up, because all of this was on him, and by feeling sorry for himself like this he was behaving like a child.

Bucky dragged his knees up into his chest and buried his face into his chest, trying to take deep breaths amongst the harsh, wracking sobs that shook his entire body. 

_It's no wonder it was so easy to push them away. Being queer was just the last straw in a long fucking line of straws; how did they put up with my stupid childish behaviour for so long?_

He regretted so much, he wished he could take back _so_ _much_ , but that's not how the universe works. He wasn't sure if he could do this anymore. He'd lost everything. No, not lost- he'd thrown everything away. Everything good he ever had and he tossed it carelessly off into the ocean, and now he couldn't get it back without drowning. 

 _I just want it to stop. I want all of this to stop._ _  
_

_It would be so easy,_ the snarling voice in his head told him a second later, _it would be better. You'd be with Xander. You could be happy again, like before._

And then,  _you're barely coping anyway. And you have nothing left to lose._

"I'm falling apart," he whispered out loud, his choked voice breaking the otherwise eerie silence in his mostly dark apartment. 

_Then you know what to do._

A deep breath. _Where is this coming from?_

 _You have options,_ the voice continued unfalteringly. _You've got guns in every drawer, there's knives in the kitchen, you have bottles full of pills in the bathroom cabinet. Don't kid yourself that this will get better, because it won't. You have to take action._

A heavy exhale.

_It's not going to get easier. You know it's not._

And then Bucky was getting to his feet, brushing his hair impatiently out of his face from where it clung to his tear-stained cheeks, and walking slowly into his bedroom, as if he was in a trance.

_Don't cry. Don't cry, you're stronger than that. This is a good thing; you'll be happy again._

_But I can fight this. I know I can fight this._

_What would be the point? You've already made up your mind._

_No,_ Bucky told himself as he slowly sat down on the edge of his bed, mindlessly rolling up his sleeves and closing his eyes, letting a stray tear drip down from his lashes and onto his cheek.  _I haven't._

_(Yes. I have.)_

 

*

 

"It's funny," Natasha said thoughtfully as she reached over to snag some of Steve's popcorn, "I always assumed Dumbledore was straight, you know, probably because he was super old, but then I read the part about Grindelwald and it was like. Huh. This guy was super gay."

"Shut up," Steve scolded her, slapping her hand away. "Watch the movie."

They were in Steve's apartment, just the two of them, watching the 7th Harry Potter movie on his couch. It had been Natasha's idea; she was convinced that the two needed to spend more time together to 'strengthen their friendship' after the whole Bucky incident, and so far Steve was actually enjoying himself. Natasha was good company, and even though he would've liked for Sam to be here (he unfortunately had a prior commitment at the VA) he was having a pretty good time.

Natasha only managed to be silent for about thirty seconds before she started talking again. Steve was slowly getting used to it. "I always hated this bit," she pointed in a whisper out as Harry and Hermione entered Bathilda Bagshot's house, "because I _knew_ what was going to happen before-"

The sudden buzzing of Natasha's phone against his leg and a well-timed dramatic camera shot caused Steve to start, and Natasha let out a snicker.

"Lame," she told him.

Her phone buzzed a second time, and this time Natasha reached for it. In the process she knocked her bony shoulder accidentally against Steve's and wow, that actually sorta hurt.

"Hey," Steve frowned, "No texting. Movie time."

"It's James," she shrugged by way of explanation as she unlocked her phone, as if that made it okay. Steve glanced over at her after a few seconds of silence, and what he saw was enough to scare him.

Natasha had gone white, completely white. Her face had drained of colour and her mouth was hanging slightly open in an expression of shock as she stared at the phone, now held loosely in her grip.

"Tasha?" Steve asked slowly, cold settling in the pit of his stomach, "Everything okay?"

And then Natasha was getting to her feet, shaking her head, and her movements were jerky and uncoordinated and so _unlike_ Natasha that Steve found himself rising too, concern etching its way into his features.

"What's going on? Tasha?"

"I have to go," she muttered as she reached down to snatch up her shoes, not even bothering to put them on.

"Is it Bucky?" Steve swallowed, "What's happened?"

"Nothing, it's probably nothing, I just- I gotta go, okay? Like right now." She made a grab for her jacket, flung over the side of the couch, but Steve got there first, yanking it away from her.

"You're not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on!"

"Steve," Natasha growled, "Give it to me, this is important!"

" _What_ _happened?!"_ Steve's heart was thudding loudly in his chest because well, this seemed bad, and he wasn't sure what was going on but Natasha was freaked and it involved Bucky and that alone was enough to dangerously impact his blood pressure. "If he's hurt, or- or-"

Natasha grit her teeth, "Steve," she began, before she darted forwards to grab her jacket out of his hand. In the midst of the flurry of movement Steve managed to swipe her phone out of her hand, ignoring her shout of indignation;

" _Wait_ -"

It was, luckily, still unlocked and upon on a thread of messages from 'James'- Bucky, obviously. The first text had been sent five minutes ago:

_i need you asap_

And then, two minutes later:

_oh god nat i'm so sorry_

Steve's head began to swim, and black spots started appearing in his vision. "Oh my god," he said, but it felt like he was hearing someone else say it from really far away, "Oh my _god_ -"

Natasha had taken her phone back by then and was practically running to the door, all her stuff clutched haphazardly to her chest, shoes included. 

Steve, feeling like he was about to collapse at any given moment, automatically followed her.

 _He hasn't... He_ wouldn't _... God, what if he has?_

Natasha wheeled around as she reached the door, glaring at him, "Where are _you_ going?"

"I'm coming with you."

"No you're not."

"Yes," Steve pressed angrily, "I am."

" _No_ ," she repeated, "You're-"

"He's in trouble," Steve snapped, drowning out the end of her sentence entirely, "And you don't have a car." He snatched up his keys and his phone from the kitchen table as he passed it. "Let's go."

The drive to Bucky's apartment was horrible. Steve was so on-edge that he ran several red lights without even realising it, and had a close call with a truck as he tried to overtake some slow-ass taxi on the main road. His grip on the steering wheel was so tight that his knuckles had turned white, and he'd been clenching his jaw subconsciously for such a long time that it was starting to give him a headache.

Natasha, sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest in the front seat, wasn't doing much better. Her fingers drummed absently on the door as they drove, and whenever Steve glanced sideways at her she seemed one step closer to bursting into tears. But there was a resoluteness to the way she held her head, a kind of determined strength, and so Steve said nothing to comfort her. He knew her well enough to know that she didn't need it.

It only took twenty minutes to get from Steve's apartment to Bucky's- Steve's 'proactive' driving had sliced the usual time it took almost in half. Steve had no longer pulled up into a space on the sidewalk than Natasha had bolted out of the passenger's side and ran to the front steps of the building, leaving Steve to put on the handbrake and switch off the engine as fast as possible to try and catch her up.

He managed it, somehow, and the two ran up the stairs together, side-by-side, Natasha managing the three floors with surprising ease whereas Steve was beginning to struggle by the last couple of steps.

But Steve reached Bucky's door first, out of breath for more reasons than one, and thumped his fist three times on the wood panelling; "Bucky?! You home??"

" _Move_ , Rogers," Natasha said through gritted teeth as she shoved him out of the way, holding up a key.

Steve obeyed, and seconds later Natasha had let them both into Bucky's apartment with a key that Steve had forgotten she owned. 

" _James?"_ Natasha called out into the dark of the apartment while Steve fumbled for the light switch. He found it, eventually, and the lights flickered on to reveal...absolutely nothing. The kitchen and living room areas of his apartment, still familiar to Steve even after two months, were completely empty, void of Bucky, but Steve noticed immediately the bed pillow on the couch. It looked like Bucky'd been sleeping there.

What was even more noticeable, though, was the fact that almost every single drawer had been opened. All of the kitchen drawers and cupboards had been thrown carelessly open, some even seemed to have their contents dumped on the floor. It was, to put it mildly, a complete mess.

The pair stood in silence in the doorway for what felt like years, staring around at the chaos. but for what Steve would come later to realise was only a matter of seconds.

"Oh my god," Natasha was muttering in a panicked tone, and her breathing was starting to get louder and more erratic as she took off at a jog towards the closed door of Bucky's bedroom. When she tried to open it, nothing happened.

"Locked?" Steve suggested, his heart threatening to jump out of his throat, but Natasha was seemingly unfazed by this apparently minor setback. She took one step backwards, then two, and then- like something out of a crime thriller- she lashed out with her leg and literally kicked the jammed door open with a loud bang and the snapping sound of of splintering wood.

What he saw next made Steve go weak at the knees with relief, because if nothing else, _oh_   _thank god, he's fucking alive_.

Bucky was sitting hunched over on the floor of his bedroom, legs crossed, with his hair falling down to hide his face, and he was surrounded by what looked like various gun parts. His expression was hidden by his hair but Steve could see that he was shaking, and before he could say anything Natasha was on her knees and crawling through the maze of gun paraphernalia that Bucky had surrounded himself with to sit directly in front of him.

"James," she said quietly, reaching out to give his arm a gentle squeeze. "It's Nat, can you talk to me?"

And when Bucky looked up, finally, Steve realised why he hadn't said a word since they arrived.

There were tear marks streaking his cheeks as though he'd been crying, his eyes were red and puffy and the skin surrounding them had turned dark, bruised with sheer exhaustion. His jaw was clenched so tightly that he'd developed a slight twitch on one side from forcing it shut. It looked like if he so much as opened his mouth, he'd collapse in on himself.

Which, incidentally, is exactly what happened.

"Nat," Bucky just about managed to whisper in a cracked and tired voice, before what was left of his resolve crumbled and he practically fell forwards into her already outstretched arms with a broken sob.

Natasha reacted instantly, pulling him close to her chest and murmuring into his neck, "It's alright, I'm here, it's alright," over and over and over again like a mantra, like a promise.

But Steve still stood in the same place in the doorway, unable to take his eyes off the pair of them, with a dry mouth and a slowly breaking heart. Bucky was in so much pain, he looked so _broken_. Steve had thought he'd never see anything worse than when Bucky had broken down on the fire escape after the fight with his parents but god, this was so much worse than that. This was _ten_ times worse than that, a _hundred_ times. This was sadness in its purest form; this was giving up.

Or at least, this was _almost_ giving up. Bucky hadn't done it, he hadn't ended things; instead he'd sent a text to Natasha (not him, Steve couldn't help but bitterly notice, before mentally slapping himself in the face because wow, way to be insensitive) and taken apart all of his weapons for what Steve assumed was his own safety.

"I didn't," Bucky was saying, and the sound of his voice was enough to bring Steve back to reality. He must've been zoned out for longer than he thought, because by this point the crying had mostly stopped- or at least, it had relented enough for Bucky to be able to form coherent sentences. "I thought- I thought I was going to- I didn't though, I didn't do it, I didn't want to."

"I know," Natasha sighed, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head as she drew back slightly to look at him. "I'm proud of you."

"I'm okay."

"Yeah," the redhead agreed, "You are. You're okay."

"Just a little glitch, you know?" Steve heard him swallow, "It was stupid. It's nothing."

Natasha's voice was careful as she said, "Don't ever say that it's nothing. You're everything to me, James. You know that I'd be here in a heartbeat if you need me, always, even if it _is_ stupid."

"I, uhh..." Bucky reached up to wipe impatiently at his eyes, sniffing loudly. He gestured to the vast quantities of gun parts around him. "I dismantled all my guns. In case."

"I can see that," Natasha agreed gently, and when she turned around to glance at Steve he could see clear as day the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Steve had never once seen Natasha cry.

"I also, um, threw all of my knives down the garbage chute," Bucky confessed, brushing a trembling (Steve noticed) hand through his hair as he leaned back slightly from Natasha, "And I'm sorry about this one, but I flushed my medication down the toilet."

Natasha let out a hiss. "James," she said reproachfully, but Bucky waved her off.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Natasha just sighed, reaching forwards to brush the remaining tears lightly away from Bucky's cheeks with her sleeve. "I'm sure it probably did."

If he was honest, Steve was more than a little shocked at how quickly Bucky seemed to have recovered from that little episode. He was sitting up straight, brushing his hair back from his face, and conversing with Natasha in a way that seemed to him to be pretty normal. It was unnerving.

But then Steve remembered Bucky's behaviour after their first argument on that fire escape. How he'd fallen apart and then, in a matter of seconds, pieced himself back together again. Steve's heart was crushed by the thought of these horrifying breakdowns just being cracks in his eternally worn armour; he was okay until he wasn't, and then he forced himself to pull it together because that's just what Bucky was like. Vulnerability had never really been an option for him. He'd rather lock everything in a box and wait for it to splinter apart at the sides.

And here he was, resolutely duct taping that splintering box as he cleared his throat and dried his eyes, forcing his spine upright and pretending that everything was a-okay. He was overcompensating, trying to lighten the mood even though he was clearly falling to pieces, and it was gut-wrenching to watch.

Steve wiped the tears that had started to form from his eyes and leaned against the doorframe, swallowing back his concerns. He could talk to Natasha about this later. Bucky being okay was all that mattered right now.

"I'm sorry," Bucky was saying, voice raspy after his throat had been ravaged by tears, as he reached up to rub at his eyes again. "God, Nat, I'm sorry. I shouldn't've- I mean, I made you worry-"

"Don't be stupid," Steve said bluntly without even thinking about what he was saying, and the look of genuine surprise that crossed Bucky's features almost made it worth it. Of course Bucky hadn't noticed he was here.

"Steve?" The expression of surprise quickly turned to horror, "Oh god, did I text you as well?"

"You didn't," Natasha reassured him, "he was with me when I got your messages."

"And you...came?"

Steve frowned. "Of course I-" he paused, stomach twisting into knots as he realised, "I mean, if you don't want me here I can-"

"No," Bucky said quickly, and Steve detected a note of panic in his tired voice. "No. Stay."

"Okay," Steve said hoarsely, quickly looking away for fear of bursting into tears or something equally as unhelpful. As he tried to regain control of his breathing, Natasha helped Bucky to his feet.

"Let's get you to the couch. We can log into Clint's Netflix and I can show you this really cool documentary on caves I watched the other day," she suggested as she wrapped an arm around his waist and guided him into the other room, stepping around Steve as she did so. She gave him a meaningful look over Bucky's shoulder that Steve couldn't quite interpret, but he was pretty sure it was just supposed to mean 'thank god'.

Steve followed a couple of paces behind as Natasha settled Bucky onto the couch and collapsed down next to him, reaching for the TV remote.

"Coffee," Steve blurted out, and then he kicked himself because god damn it why couldn't his brain filter his damn words properly anymore?

Natasha turned her head to fix him with a blank stare. "Huh?"

"Coffee- um, I need coffee. It's late, and... Coffee. Buck, d'you mind if I make coffee in your kitchen?"

"I'll have a cup too, and he'll have a glass of water" Natasha announced decisively before Bucky had a chance to even reply and, well, that settled that. 

Steve quickly carved out a path to the kitchen, letting out a deep sigh as soon as he was alone inside. He braced himself against the counter and took a moment to steady himself; he felt light-headed and dizzy and sad, god, so sad. Bucky didn't deserve any of this. Bucky was the last person on earth who deserved this.

After several deep breaths Steve managed to pull himself together enough to make the coffee, and by the time he emerged with two mugs of it and a glass of water balanced precariously in between Natasha had already found aforementioned cave documentary and put it on. Steve passed her her mug and she accepted it with a small smile of thanks; when he went to hand Bucky his glass of water their fingers brushed and Steve was so put off by it that he almost dropped the glass. Thankfully Bucky had faster reflexes, and already had a firm grip on it by the time Steve jerked back in surprise.

Neither of them brought it up.

Steve joined the pair on the couch, sitting resolutely on Natasha's other side, and soon enough all three were absorbed in Natasha's strangely calming nature documentary on caves. Steve would glance sideways every now and then and notice Bucky chewing almost viciously on his bottom lip, knuckles white from how tightly he was clenching his fists, but Natasha would always notice in time and carefully move a hand to cover one of his. Every time it happened Steve was thoroughly impressed, relieved and, as much as he hated to admit it, slightly jealous- especially considering how the other two were a mess of tangled limbs while he was awkwardly perched on the other side of the couch. He felt a bit like a useless spare part. He wondered why he'd even insisted on coming, and then remembered exactly why. He came for Bucky, to make sure Bucky was okay, and he was glad as fuck that he, for the most part, seemed to be alright. Or at the very least, doing a little better.

About half way through the documentary Natasha's phone started to ring. Frowning in confusion she pulled it out of her pocket, before swearing under her breath and getting to her feet. "Sorry," she apologised to the two men left sitting on the couch, "It's Clint, I forgot to... I'll be right back, okay?" She accepted the call and lifted the phone to her ear, disappearing off into the kitchen.

The silence that followed was noticeable, even with the sound of David Attenborough's soothing narration drifting in the background.

"Thank you," Bucky said quietly after a few moments, and it was _so_ quiet that for a minute Steve thought he must've imagined it.

"What for?" He replied after realising that the words hadn't just been a figment of his imagination.

Bucky shrugged slightly. "Coming. You didn't _need_ to really, I'm okay, but in any case. Thanks."

Steve swallowed, took a deep breath, and then turned to face him. "I know you," he said softly, "better than you think I do, and I know damn well that you're not okay, Bucky. I know we have this weird agreement not to let things get personal now, but you don't need to pretend around me. _Or_ Natasha. It's okay to not be okay, you're _allowed_ to be in pain."

Bucky cleared his throat, and Steve thought he saw a glassy sheen fall over Bucky's eyes, but it was rapidly blinked away. "I'm just so _tired_ ," he managed in a small voice, and Steve reached out slowly to place one hand on Bucky's shoulder, a reassuring weight, a warmth that proved he was there.

"Thing is," Steve murmured, trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes that meant oncoming tears, "No one's tired forever. Tiredness goes away eventually." He gave Bucky's shoulder a small squeeze. "It'll get better, Buck. You're stronger than this thing, you've fought it before and you'll do it again now."

"Everyone always says that."

Steve shrugged. "They don't know you like I do."

Bucky looked up at him, a hint of something not unlike wonder in his eyes, and Steve found himself forced to look away. Looking directly into Bucky's eyes was like staring into the sun.

Natasha reappeared then, tucking her phone back into her pocket and settling herself back down in between Steve and Bucky without saying a word. Steve was a lot closer to the middle now, having moved over slightly to be closer to Bucky as they talked, and he found that with Natasha's return came a tacit invitation to cuddle. She wrapped one arm around him and the other around Bucky and pulled them into her sides; it was ridiculous, really, but for such a tiny person Natasha radiated an awful lot of heat.

"My boys," she murmured with a sigh, giving Bucky a kiss on the top of the head and then Steve a kiss on the cheek. "Clint sends his love."

And so they sat there, the three of them, curled up together on Bucky's ratty old couch, watching nature documentaries until the early hours of the morning. And when Steve woke the next day to his alarm telling him it was time to get up for work, with Natasha's head on his shoulder and a dead leg, he was too tired to properly registered the familiar fingers entwined with his own where his arm had been draped over Natasha's shoulders. And if he gave said fingers a small squeeze out of habit before he let go, well, that was for him to know.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> triggers: suicide attempt (sort of), self-harm mention, depression/anxiety, family problems
> 
>  
> 
> post script: if anyone reading this ever feels the way bucky does in this chapter, i want you to know that you can talk to me. always, you can always talk to me you don't even offer an explanation if you don't want to. i'm here for you guys if you want to talk, if you need someone who can relate, or even just to listen to your side of the story, i'm here


	18. Baby Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before any of you say anything, i know how unbelievably late this is. i know this is a shit (and late) chapter but i'm a very stressed and overworked young bean so please validate me xo
> 
> i love you all dearly, merry christmas
> 
>  
> 
> -cat

Once again, something had definitely shifted in Steve and Bucky's relationship over the last couple of days, and Steve was panicking because of it. 

Ever since that horrible night at Bucky's house the pair had been... Not closer, but there was a definite sense of silent understanding between them. Like, they weren't _friends_ quiteyet, but they were back to being more than just colleagues again. For example, sometimes Steve would walk into the staff room and Bucky would be sprawled out across the couch with Natasha, or Clint, or sometimes Darcy, and he'd give Steve a small, private smile that Steve could never quite translate. Was Bucky just thanking him for being there that night? Was he simply being nice? Was it a reassurance that things were okay with him? Or was it _more?_ Steve wasn't normally one to obsess over labels, but this was driving him insane. He needed to know where they stood, because it was killing him. Not knowing was killing him.

"I think I'm massively over-thinking this," he confessed to Sam one Thursday over lunch. "I mean, he's probably just being nice, right? Just because he smiles at me now doesn't mean he's in love with me."

Sam was staring at him like he was insane. He'd been doing that surprisingly often recently. "I don't even know what to say to you," he told Steve with a raised eyebrow. "I think you've got it bad, son. You're fucked."

"I just..." Steve sighed, dropping his fork dramatically into his spaghetti. "I can't let him go, you know? Not after everything. Trust me, I've tried. I care about him a _lot_. Is that stupid?"

"I don't think it's _stupid_ dude, I just think it's more complicated than you're telling yourself it is." Sam leaned closer to him from across the table, and Steve mirrored him without thinking. "You _did_ break up with him, after all. You just need to remember that there was a reason for that."

"I know," Steve groaned, "and that's the whole problem. I broke up with him because he was getting cold and distant, but he was distant because he's depressed, and then after everything that happened last week... I think it's kind of destroyed my chances of getting over him, you know? I mean, Sam, I saw a side to him that I'd never seen before and it _scared_ me, but... It made me realise, I guess, just how much I care."

"You're fucked," Sam repeated, shaking his head as he leaned back into his seat, and Steve scowled at him.

"For a counsellor, you give shitty advice."

"My job as a friend isn't to counsel you, it's to tell you the truth. And that, my friend, is the truth."

Steve just gave him the finger and went back to his food.

The fact of the matter was, seeing Bucky in a vulnerable state like that had completely destroyed any and all progress Steve had made in the colossal effort to try and get over him. And now, seeing him every day with this little tentative smile on his face was not helping. It wasn't helping at all.

Despite all the odds, Bucky really seemed to be doing better this week. Not that Steve was keeping tabs on him or anything. It wasn't like he ran to Natasha most mornings begging for an update because it didn't feel like he and Bucky were close enough for Steve to ask himself. But, if he had, and if Natasha had taken pity on him and given him some details, they would all be positive things. Bucky was back on his medication and he'd been staying with Natasha and Clint for the last few days, which apparently neither of them minded, and Steve had noticed the colour was beginning to return to the other man's cheeks, and it didn't seem like he was forcing himself to behave normally. After missing only one day of work after The Incident he'd come back looking more refreshed and significantly less exhausted. Natasha told Steve that he'd practically slept for the entire day after that night once Steve had come in to work, and Natasha would know because she'd stayed home with him.

Natasha, Steve had come to realise, was an incredibly good friend to the select few she'd come to really like, and he was beyond grateful that she'd chosen Bucky to be one of these few. Anything (or anyone) that made Bucky feel even the smallest bit happier was a plus in Steve's book.

Steve had overseen Bucky casually high-five Peggy as he walked past her in the corridor a few days ago, and he'd smiled about it for the rest of the hour.

The day after that _,_ Bucky had come into work with his hair tied back in a bun and Steve had nearly fallen over and died on the spot. Sam had given him a pitying look from across the room, and even Natasha had waggled her eyebrows and made kissy faces at him. She was evil.

"Well aren't we just a ray of fucking sunshine this afternoon?" came an overly-cheery voice from Steve's left as someone sat themselves down beside him, squishing his tray slightly to the right to make room for her own, and well, speak of the devil.

Natasha gave him a dirty grin as she settled herself into her chair. "Why are you brooding into your pasta, Mr Sad Pants?"

Steve let out a long, pained sigh, totally willing to unload all of his suffering onto her because really, he was suffering a lot. "Because-"

But Sam was giving him a look that said 'dude, stop talking', and seconds later Steve understood why:

"Is it just me or does the orange juice smell a bit questionable today?" Clint asked loudly as he dropped his tray down in the seat opposite Natasha, on Sam's right. And with him, looking considerably more stressed than the last time Steve had seen him (which had only been this morning), was Bucky.

"I think it's just you," Sam mused, examining his own juice. "Or at least, I hope it is. This is glass number three."

Natasha snorted; "He's just being paranoid, Sam. He used expired milk by accident in his cereal this morning."

"I wouldn't have if _someone_ had cleared out the refrigerator yesterday like I asked them to," Clint shot back, turning to give Bucky a pointed glare.

The other man just shrugged, taking the seat on the other side of Sam- and much closer to Steve. "I forgot."

"I reminded you like six times!"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Making snide comments about how dirty the fridge is doesn't count as 'reminding'. And besides, why is that James' job? Why can't you do it? It's _your_ fridge."

"First of all Tasha, it's _our_ fridge, and second I can't believe you're taking _his_ side!"

Steve didn't miss the way Bucky's lips twitched into a grin as he raised a forkful of spaghetti to his lips.

"Of course I'm taking his side! I told _you_ to clean it out and you just passed the job on to him!"

"Damn," Sam said, "Is this what it would be like if you two had a kid?"

"They can have a test run with one of my nieces if they like," Bucky supplied.

"No need," Clint grinned, "They've got you to take care of 'em, right?"

"Unfortunately," Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes.

Steve raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

"His sister called him yesterday," Natasha interrupted in an amused tone, absently prodding at her spaghetti with her fork. "She needs him to babysit for a few days."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Yes," Bucky deadpanned, locking eyes with Steve, and Steve thought he might die.

"Why?"

"Because I'm absolutely not capable of taking care of two hyperactive children for the weekend right now, Steve, why the hell do you think?"

"He's being overdramatic," Clint told Steve with a roll of his eyes, "He'll be completely fine. He just doesn't like the idea of moving back to his own apartment. Where he has to pay for his own porn and stuff."

There was an awkward silence.

"What?" Sam asked after a few seconds.

"It's nothing," Natasha said loudly, but Bucky said at the same time;

"We have porn-critiquing sessions."

"I'm sorry?" Steve said, incredulous, looking between a red-faced Natasha and an indifferent Clint, and a frankly bored-looking Bucky.

"Like, we sit on the couch together and watch bad porn and give it ratings out of ten. It's amusing."

"Is that not... Awkward?"

Clint shrugged. "No."

Natasha looked as though she was about to commit a double homicide.

Steve decided he didn't really need to know the intricacies of the strange dynamic between the trio, so he determinedly went back to eating his lunch and refused to look at any of them.

Sam, however, did not reach the same conclusion.

"I could dissect the fuck out of that," he deadpanned, gaze switching between the three. "Do you realise how much of a bizarre three-way codependent relationship you guys have formed?"

"Yes," all three replied at the same time. Sam just shrugged, reaching for his orange juice, and Steve couldn't help but crack a smile.

The subject was not broached after that.  

 

*

 

"Thank you so much for doing this Jamie, we really appreciate it-"

Jessica's thanks was interrupted by excited squeals of 'Uncle James!', and before he could say anything the door was thrust open further and Bucky was tackled in a bear hug by two very small girls in matching backpacks.

Jessica, his sister, was still stood in the doorway with folded arms and a fond smile. "You ready to have the best weekend ever with Uncle James, girls?"

"Yes," the pair chorused, pulling back with wide grins, and Bucky found himself unable to do anything but smile back.

"Icecream for dinner," he announced, and over the cheers from the kids he caught his sister's scornful eye.

" _After_ dinner," she corrected, " _Maybe_."

Andy, Jessica's husband, poked his head around the doorframe. "We need to head out or we'll miss our flight," he said, holding out a hand for Bucky to shake. "Thanks a bunch James, we owe you big time. Anything you need."

Bucky took his hand and shook it, shrugging his shoulders. "Not a big deal," he lied, "It's not your fault your babysitter cancelled. It's just two days, I can handle it."

The two young girls had already barged past Bucky and into his apartment, dropping their backpacks unceremoniously onto the floor.

"Nonetheless," Jessica continued, "This is such a big favour, little brother, we won't forget it."

Bucky forced a smile. "Don't mention it."

"Okay girls," Andy said loudly, "Mommy and Daddy are going now!"

Both kids sprinted back over to the door to hug their parents, and Bucky shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He wasn't looking forward to this. He loved his nieces, he really did, but looking after two young children for the weekend when just last week he'd been considering suicide didn't exactly seem like a good idea. He was just relieved that Natasha and Clint had agreed to help him- and his negative attitude had nothing to do with the fact that he wasn't looking forward to moving back out of their apartment and into his own. It wasn't like he'd miss their company or anything. Really.

His sister leaned forwards and pressed a hurried kiss to his cheek, breaking his train of thought. "We'll see you on Monday. Don't forget, Sophie has ballet on Saturday afternoons and Georgina is allergic to broccoli-"

"How could he forget," Andy said with a roll of his eyes, "You've told the poor guy at least five times already-"

At this, Bucky cracked a genuine smile. He'd always liked Andy.

"Oh, and George's inhaler is in the small pocket of-"

"We're going to miss our flight," Andy reiterated as he began to steer a quickly-becoming-frantic Jessica away from the door, "if we don't leave right now."

"Bye girls!!" Jess called out over her shoulder as the pair turned away. "Love you!"

"Love you too!" Both children yelled back, and then the front door was swung shut and Bucky was left alone in his apartment with a four year old and eight year old, both staring at him expectantly.

Bucky took a deep breath.

"So," he started, crouching down and resting his elbows on his knees, "The only video games I have are big boy ones, but I do have netflix. Well, sort of. I've got my friend's password. Or, I have a scrabble set over there somewhere... And a pack of cards. That's about it. What do you guys wanna do?"

"Have you got any toys?" Georgina asked curiously as she ran her hand over the side of the couch. "This is soft."

"We have toys in our bag George," Sophie told her in a sensible big-sister voice. "You can play with those."

George's face split into a grin and she ran to her bag, sitting cross-legged on the floor as she tugged at the zip.

"What do you want to do, Soph? Do you want to play with George, or we can do something else?" Bucky offered, running his hand through his hair to brush it out of his face. It really _was_ getting long.

As George got clumsily to her feet, five dolls clutched in her hands, and sprinted over to a spot on the floor underneath the fire escape, Bucky's other niece got a strange look in her eye.

"Did you say you have a pack of cards?"

 

*

  

"I don't know if I should really be here," Steve said for what must've been the sixth time that evening as he, Natasha and Clint clambered up the stairs to Bucky's apartment. "He didn't invite me over-"

"No," Clint agreed, " _technically_ he didn't, but he invited me and Tash, and we invited you. And he likes you, so he won't care. Plus he really needs all the help he can get."

Steve sighed. "Alright, Bucky aside then. Won't it just intimidate the kids, having another three adults over?"

Natasha shrugged. "Kids love grown ups that want to play with them." 

Clint shot his girlfriend a look. "Alright, be careful who you say that to..."

Natasha scowled at him. "You know what I meant." She reached Bucky's door first, pulling a key that Steve kept forgetting she owned out of her pocket.

Clint had also, clearly, forgotten. He raised an eyebrow. "You've still got that?"

"'Course."

There was a silence, then; "Fair enough." 

The key clicked in the lock and Natasha let them all into Bucky's apartment. It was seemingly empty; no Bucky or screaming children in sight. Actually, aside from a Barbie doll that Steve was 60% sure Bucky didn’t own, there was no evidence of children at all.

Natasha had clearly reached the same conclusion. “James?” She called out tentatively. “You home?”

“ _No running_ ,” came a half-yelled not-quite-reply, and suddenly it made sense as a very small bushy-haired brunette girl in a princess gown came pelting at full speed out of the kitchen, eyes wide.

“Are you Uncle James’s friends?” She asked breathlessly.

Clint knelt down on the floor beside her and extended his hand. “It’s an honour to meet you, my lady,” he said in a serious tone. “I’m Clint. What’s your name?”

“George,” the girl said shyly.

“What land are you the queen of?”

“Princess,” George giggled, taking Clint’s still-outstretched hand and shaking it enthusiastically. “And I’m the princess of Uncle James’s Apartment.”

“Speaking of Uncle James,” Natasha interrupted smoothly, “can we go see him?”

“Yes,” George decided, “But only if you say the magic words.”

Clint grinned. “Pretty please?”

“You may pass.” The young girl curtseyed and stepped out of the way, beaming.

She was adorable, Steve thought, smiling slightly as he followed Natasha into the kitchen, but the smile quickly turned to an expression of bemusement as he was met with a significantly stranger scene.

Bucky was sitting at the kitchen table opposite a girl who was probably less than ten years old, with a pile of chocolate coins in front of them and cards in their hands, both staring intently at the other one.

“Raise,” the girl said confidently, and Steve couldn’t help but notice the slight twitch of Bucky’s eyebrow.

“Are you playing poker?” Natasha interrupted, staring hard at Bucky. “You’re playing poker, really? With an eight-year-old?”

“He’s teaching me,” Bucky’s niece explained as Bucky added two more chocolate coins to the pile in the middle. “He’s a good teacher. He promised last summer that he’d teach me to play.

Natasha gave Bucky a despairing look.

Bucky just shrugged. “What? Girl’s gotta learn. Everyone, this is my niece Sophie. Soph, that’s Natasha, you might remember her-”

“I don’t,” said the girl, and Natasha grinned.

“Fair enough.”

“-and Clint-“

Clint waved.

“And that’s Steve.”

Steve, naturally, picked up on the slight waver in Bucky’s voice and chose to ignore it, instead giving Sophie a warm smile. “Hi.”

“Hello. Did you see my sister? Her name’s George, I’m the oldest so I have to look after her. Was she annoying? Sorry if she was annoying.”

“She wasn’t annoying in the least,” Clint reassured her, taking a seat next to Bucky at the kitchen table. “How’re you getting on with poker? Who’s winning?”

“Me,” Sophie said smugly, and when Bucky glanced up at Steve and Natasha he gave them a wink.

“What can I say? She’s a fast learner.”

“She’s eight,” Natasha pointed out. “I don’t think Jess would be-“

“Jess is in the Maldives, Nat, she doesn’t need to know.”

Sophie’s eyes widened. “Is this an Uncle James secret?”

Bucky grinned at her. “You bet, kiddo.”

“What’s an Uncle James secret?” Steve asked curiously, moving to sit down on Clint’s other side. Natasha soon followed, sitting in the last free chair beside Sophie.

“Here, I’ll be on your team.”

“An Uncle James secret is a secret from mommy,” Bucky explained, eyes twinkling as he looked back down at his cards. “It means we don’t ever tell her things that Uncle James does when she isn’t here.”

“Can I have some examples please,” Clint requested in a faux-polite voice, looking at Sophie.

“He promised George and me icecream for dinner,” she said in a hushed tone, “and Mommy can’t know about it.”

“Icecream!” Came an excited and high-pitched yell from the next room.

“Everything okay in there, George?” Bucky called out to the younger girl.

“Yes please!”

“You mean thank you,” Sophie yelled back in correction. “Please is when you want something, remember?”

“How about we take a small break, Soph? You go and check on your sister real quick and give the grown ups time to catch up, is that okay?”

“Don’t take any of my chocolate,” Sophie warned, narrowing her eyes at Bucky, before dashing off into the living room.

Once she was out of sight Bucky turned to Natasha, eyes wide. “Thank god you’re here.”

“Why? Looks like you’re having fun.”

Bucky gave her a look. “Nat,” he said in a hushed voice, “I don’t like kids.”

“You’re a teacher!”

“ _Young_ kids, then!”

Clint rolled his eyes. “You’re such a drama queen, Barnes, for real.”

“They seem lovely,” Steve pointed out, raising an eyebrow at Bucky. “And not shitty like little boys would be. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Honestly I don’t even know why we’re here,” Natasha said airily, folding her arms. “Looks like you’re handling yourself just fine. Clint, should we-”

Bucky let out a noise not dissimilar to a whine. “Don’t _leave_ …”

“Admit that we’re only here because you miss us.”

Bucky frowned. “That is _not_ it.”

“You miss living with us. Admit it.”

“I only stayed with you for five days!”

“You miss us,” Clint taunted, “you dooo…”

Natasha got to her feet, reaching for her purse.

"Fine," Bucky said quickly, " _Part_ of the reason _might_ just be because I got a bit used to staying with you guys, but-"

"Knew it," Natasha said in a satisfied voice as she sat back down again, giving Bucky a smug look.

Clint turned to Steve with a wide grin. "Poor baby Bucky gets lonely, see."

Bucky shot Clint a look, seemingly embarrassed. "Shut up, I got used to having you around, that's all."

Steve couldn't help being resentful of this, but he knew that it was irrational. Mostly.

"Uncle James," came the high-pitched call of one of the girls in the next room, "Can we use your netflix now please? Is Frozen on it?"

At the look of complete and utter horror that crossed Bucky's face, Natasha finally seemed to take pity on him.

"Here girls, how about I come help you set it up? Uncle James doesn't really know what he's doing, and Frozen is more of a girl's movie anyway," she called back as she got to her feet, rolling her eyes at the look of overt gratitude on Bucky's face.

 _"Thank you_ ," he mouthed, looking relieved.

Natasha had to force herself not to smile as she left the kitchen, and it was stupidly obvious.

"I'll come too," Clint announced as he, too, stood up out of his chair.

Bucky gave him a strange look. "Why?"

Clint looked straight back and said, in a completely unashamed tone, "I fucking love Frozen."

Bucky held up both hands in a motion of surrender. "To each his own, I guess."

"I can't stand it," Steve muttered mostly to himself.

Bucky shrugged. "Neither."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Then sit in here and be miserable together, I'm gonna go watch the awesome movie."

Bucky snorted. "Our loss."

"That it is, Barnes." Clint followed Natasha through the door into the living room, and suddenly it was just Bucky and Steve in the kitchen and Steve thought he might suffocate because, shit, had it always been this hot in here?

Bucky clearly had the same idea because he was rolling up his shirt sleeves and wait.

Hang on.

Steve needed a moment to have a full-on heart attack.

"Is that a- you've got- did you get another tattoo?" He asked weakly after a few seconds of Bucky staring at him in confusion.

Bucky then proceeded to look slowly down at his own arm, as if to check that the massive sleeve tattoo of some kind of robotic arm was still there. "Yeah," he said after an equally long delay, before looking up at Steve again. "Have you not seen it before?"

Steve had given up on speaking; he was officially mute. He shook his head.

Bucky cleared his throat. "Do you, um. Do you like it?"

Steve opened his mouth but no words came out. He closed his mouth, coughed twice, then opened it again. When he spoke his voice was slightly hoarse but at least it worked again, and he was able to choke out the words;

"Does it go all the way up?"

Bucky nodded slowly. He hesitated slightly before rolling up the sleeve of his button-down even further so Steve could see his whole forearm and most of his bicep.

"I like it a lot," he managed. "It, err, it suits you."

"Thank you."

"Can I ask, um... Why-"

"Not because of you," Bucky said quickly, and Steve paused for a moment, looking (and feeling) particularly confused.

"Huh?"

Bucky had gone an ugly shade of scarlet, and Steve loved him a little bit. "I didn't get the tattoo because of you."

Steve gestured to it. "I can kind of see that, Buck, it has nothing to do with me," he pointed out, suddenly feeling a lot less strained now that he knew Bucky was just as flustered by the whole situation as he was.

Impossibly, Bucky went redder. He quickly tugged his sleeve down again. "No, I meant- like, I didn't have a crisis moment and decide- I've wanted it done for a while."

"I believe you." Steve's mouth went dry as he watched Bucky lick his lips, and he had to look away.

"Good."

Bucky has a sleeve tattoo now. A sleeve tattoo _and_ hair long enough to knot back in a bun. Steve wasn't sure he could cope with these developments without having to lock himself in the bathroom and panic for an hour or so. He wasn't sure how the man had managed to become _more_ attractive than he already was in such a short period of time. He also wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed an _entire sleeve tattoo_ for what was apparently a pretty long time.

But he didn't say any of that, obviously. What he said instead was, "What does it mean?"

Bucky shrugged. "Does it have to mean something?"

"Well, no. I just wondered if it had one."

"It doesn't really. Just... Wanted it done."

Steve's lips twitched into a small smile. "So you did."

"So I did."

_You're impulsive and an asshole and I love you._

"What if you regret it? I really like it, don't get me wrong, but... It's kind of a big one. Not like the one on your shoulder."

Bucky's eyes flicked up to meet Steve's, and his breath hitched in his throat. "I didn't want to be on the fence. Decided to go for it. If I hate it in a few years, oh well. At least I made a decision and stuck to it."

Steve's smile grew and he looked away, eyes drifting over the cards on the table.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him, "What? What're you smirking at?"

"I'm not smirking! I just forgot how funny you can be."

"Funny how?!"

"Just, odd. Liberal. Have I ever told you that you have the exact same outlook on life as a teenage girl??"

Bucky snorted. "Shut up Steve."

Steve held up his hands, grinning. "Just saying."

"Tread lightly pal, I'm not above physically fighting you."

"Oh, like you could take me."

Bucky leaned forwards in his chair, quirking an eyebrow in a way that made Steve's stomach churn because shit, they were definitely flirting, this was happening in real life and not in one of Steve's dreams. "I've done it before."

"You've never won," Steve pointed out as he mirrored Bucky and leaned closer as well, "unless I let you win."

"That's just a complete lie."

Steve scoffed, "No it's not!"

Bucky rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small grin, and for the first time in ages, Steve felt like things were the way they were supposed to be.

But before the friendly jabs could continue there was a short but piercing scream from the next room that had Bucky on his feet in seconds, practically collapsing through the doorway and into the living room;

"What?! What the hell was that?"

Steve followed suit, to find that nobody had been murdered. All, in fact, that had happened was Clint had fallen off the couch during what was apparently a very tense moment in Frozen and scared the shit out of four-year-old George.

"In future, can we not scream in Uncle James's apartment unless there's a fire or a stranger in it?" Bucky pleaded after Natasha had stopped giggling and Sophie had helped squeeze Clint back into his space on the couch. 

"I'm sorry Uncle James," chimed George, "But it scared me real bad-"

" _Really_ bad," Sophie corrected.

"Really," George copied.

Bucky just shook his head. "Right, okay. It's fine. But you scared _me_ really bad."

" _I_ was here," Natasha pointed out, looking affronted. "A hitman coulda been in here and I would've taken care of it just fine."

"I know, Nat." He rolled his eyes.

"What would you have done in a fire situation then?" Steve pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

Natasha glared at him. " _Something_ ," she said snappily, "And it would've worked."

Clint stared at her. "You couldn't even stop me from falling off the couch."

"I didn't want to particularly."

"Why not?!"

The redhead shrugged. "Just thought it would be funny, really."

"I hurt my back because of you," Clint grumbled, crossing his arms.

George giggled, patting Clint on the shoulder. "It's okay, you made me laugh after I was scared!"

Clint grinned sideways at her. "I did?"

"Yeah! The noise of hurt you made was funny."

Natasha snort-laughed while Clint just shot Steve and Bucky a resigned look. "This is my legacy."

Bucky grinned. "Barton, it's better than no legacy at all."

"I'd have to disagree with you there."

As the four on the couch settled back down to watch the rest of the film, Steve couldn't help but smile as he noticed the fond way that Bucky was looking at the makeshift family they'd so quickly become, with Sophie sitting practically on Natasha's lap and George squeezing herself under Clint's arm.

"Sweet, isn't it?" Steve murmured with a smile. "How good they are with kids, I mean."

Bucky glanced up at him. "They'd made pretty good parents, huh?"

"I feel like they would, yeah."

"Better than mine."

Steve smiled slightly, reaching over to nudge Bucky gently on the arm. "Doesn't take much though, does it. It's not exactly a high bar."

And Bucky did something beautiful; he laughed. Properly.

"Oi, shut up, we're watching a movie!"

He quickly shut his mouth again, but his eyes continued to twinkle. "Thank you," he said sincerely, before his expression grew slightly more serious. "I mean it, Steve. Thank you. For everything, for all of it. And especially for acting normal around me this week."

Steve brushed him off. "Don't mention it, Buck. I'd-" _do anything for you-_ "-um, I just want to help. I want you to be okay."

Bucky smiled at him. "I know."

They continued to keep eye contact for a good few seconds after that, until Steve finally dropped his gaze. It was too much. All of it, it was too much.

 

*

 

"I thought you and Nat had a date."

It was Sunday night, and Bucky had just managed to put his two nieces to bed after what ended up being almost an hour of struggle. And of course, after just settling down onto the couch with a glass of wine (shut up) to watch the next episode of Jessica Jones, there _would_ be a knock at his door. And it _would_ be Clint 'Great Timing' Barton.

Clint seemed stressed as he pushed his way past Bucky and into the dark apartment, lit only by a lamp on a coffee table under the window and the faint glow of the street lamps outside. "I do."

Bucky shut the door again, turning around to face Clint, who was now twisting his hands almost nervously. "Then what are you doing here? What's wrong with you, you look insane."

"I need some advice," Clint blurted out, and Bucky found himself staring at him in surprise.

"So you... Came to _me?"_

Clint nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. 'Course. We're best friends, right?"

"Right, but- I mean, asking me for advice is like asking a child how to fill out a tax returns form. Doing things right is sort of a foreign concept to me."

"Do you really have to be like this right now? I need your help, Barnes," Clint pleaded, and that was when Bucky realised this was serious.

He sobered immediately, clearing his throat. "Right, sorry. Sure." He gestured for Clint to sit down. "What do you need help with?"

"I need to know if you think Tash and I are going too fast."

Bucky did a double take. " _Really?"_

"I'm serious!"

"Well buddy I think it's a bit late to be asking yourself that _now_ , you already live together-"

"I want to marry her," Clint burst out again, and Bucky's jaw dropped. Natasha? Married? _That_ was a concept...

"You want to-"

"I love her more than _anything,_ you know, and-"

"Wait-"

"I was going to propose tonight," he babbled, and Bucky couldn't do anything but stare at him, shocked.

"You're going to-"

"I bought the ring and everything, I'm just not sure-"

" _Clint_ ," Bucky practically yelled, before remembering his nieces and wincing. He instantly lowered his voice. "Clint," he repeated much more quietly, "Stop it. Stop rambling."

"I'm _panicking!_ I was sure I wanted to do this but now I'm freaking out because what if this is way too quick?!"

"Dude," Bucky hissed, "Shut up, the girls are asleep-"

 _"Help me!"_  

Bucky sighed, moving to sit down beside Clint on the couch. His friend now held his head in his hands, making a prolonged groaning noise.

"Who else have you told?"

"No one," Clint sighed. "Just you. I wanted it to be a complete surprise. But now I'm thinking, what if it turns out to be a massive disaster?"

"Clint."

"Mmm."

"Stop being so dramatic."

"Don't tell me to stop being dramatic, this could be the biggest decision of my life! I want to ask her to marry me but I don't want to freak her out. What if I freak her out? God, what if I ask her and she breaks up with me?"

"Do it," Bucky said suddenly, hardly thinking, and Clint looked up, horrified.

"Break up with her?!"

"No, moron, propose. Do it. Ask her."

Clint looked surprised. "Really?"

Bucky shrugged. "I think you should, yeah. And you came here for my advice, so. There it is."

"Not gonna lie, Barnes, I kinda came over here hoping you'd talk me out of it."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Oh."

"Why do you think I should do it?"

"Because, like I said, you already live with her. And that was fast. And you guys dating was fast. Honestly, your whole relationship was fast. And," he added before Clint, looking concerned, could interrupt, "I don't think that's a bad thing."

"You... Don't?"

"Nah. It's just who you are, both of you. You don't mess around, you're very practical and you get things done quickly and efficiently. And I honestly believe that if you ask her to marry you, she'll say yes."

_"Really?"_

Bucky grinned. "I know Nat better than I know myself, Barton, and I'm positive." He paused. "Alright, I'm like 90% sure. But there's always a _little_ risk." 

"I guess..."

"Can I see the ring?" He prompted suddenly, leaning forwards, "Have you got it on you?"

"Yeah, course you can." Clint reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small velvet box, handing it to Bucky, who couldn't help but notice that he'd gone a bit red. "Do you think she'd like it? It's not majorly expensive, but..."

Bucky lifted the top of the box and let out an impressed whistle. "Clint, man. Wow."

The ring was simple, but it was beautiful; just a plain silver band with a single sparkling diamond decorating the top, twinkling in the dim light. Bucky nodded his head slowly as he examined it. "It's very Nat," he murmured, mostly thinking outloud.

"You think so?"

"I know so. And so do you, obviously, which is why you picked it." He handed the ring back to Clint, looking at him expectantly. "Well?"

"Well?" Clint echoed.

"You gonna propose or what?"

Clint took a deep breath. "I think... I think I will. Unless I chicken out in the cab on the way to the restaurant."

Bucky's eyes widened. "Don't propose in the restaurant."

"Oh, no, I wasn't going to. Nat would-"

"Hate the attention," Bucky finished with a nod, "You're right. How're you gonna do it?"

"Wait until we get home, have a glass of wine, and just... Get it done. Nice and simple, nothing huge. Nothing fancy, Nat wouldn't like it."

Bucky's face split into a grin. "You're perfect for her, you know. She's a lucky girl."

Clint snorted. "Are you jealous?"

" _So_ jealous. I'm tellin' you, Clint, if you were gay and single..."

"And if you weren't hung up on someone else I'm sure," Clint teased, getting to his feet.

Bucky waved him away, pretending not to be affected by the jab, "That aside. I can still be secretly in love with you."

"Not a secret anymore, is it?" Clint snorted.

Bucky grinned as he, too, stood up. "Guess not. You heading off?"

"Got to, I'll be late for the reservation otherwise."

Bucky clapped him on the shoulder, smiling. "Good luck, pal. You'll do great."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Shittest pep talk ever."

Bucky snorted. "What I mean is, she'll say yes and you better ask me to be best man at your stupid wedding."

Clint grinned. "As if there'd be anyone else for the job."

Bucky internally high fived himself, and externally high fived Clint. "Yeah buddy! That's what I wanted to hear."

"She hasn't actually said yes yet," his friend pointed out.

"But she will! And when she does, I'm best man. You've promised now, you can't go back on that."

"Like I ever would." Clint gave Bucky a half-sarcastic salute as he headed for the door. "I'll let you know how it goes. Although, Tash'll probably call you anyway. Who knows, we might even pop around."

"Do," Bucky encouraged, "Come visit, we can celebra- Ohh, wait, I have kids here," his face fell, "Maybe don't do that. We'll celebrate tomorrow. Good luck, man. Let me know. Love you!"

"Love you too," Clint called back, disappearing out Bucky's front door with a final, hopeful, grin.

Bucky didn't think he'd even been this excited in his life. He drummed his fingers anxiously on his knee, which he bounced up and down on the wooden floor. He wanted to talk to someone about it- he needed to share his excitement or he might, quite literally, explode. This was too much. Clint was about to propose- _propose!_ To _Nat!_ No, he needed to tell someone. Sorry Clint, but he had to, it was the only way. He reached for his phone, quickly typing in the unlock code and clicking on his contact list. He scrolled for a bit before settling on a name and, before he could rethink it and change his mind, tapping out:

_bucky: clint going to propose to nat tonite help my heart cant take it_

It only took about five minutes for him to get a response, which was lucky because for the whole time he was waiting for one he thought his heart might pound out of his chest with anticipation. He wasn't even sure if he'd been going to get a response at all.

_steve: are you serious? holy shit_

And then, a few seconds later:

_steve: there's no way she'll say no, they're totally gonna get married_

Bucky grinned unashamedly down at his screen, ignoring the nagging voice in his mind that told him he was behaving like a teenager with a crush.

_bucky: i kno. clints promised me best man_

_steve: that traitor..._

_bucky: position of maid of honour still open stevie, dont lose hope_

As soon as he sent the text he regretted it; it was a bit too flirty and familiar and oh shit oh no, he's ruined it, it's made it weird again.

His phone buzzed and Bucky had a minor heart attack.

_steve: darcy, pepper or jane have much nicer legs than i do, i'm sure they'll look better in a dress :-P_

Relief flooded through him, and Bucky sent a silent prayer to god thanking him for how well Steve had taken the joke.

_bucky: good point. theyll sort somethin out im sure. will update u when clint tells me how it went :D_

_steve: you better_

Bucky set his phone down on the coffee table, heart racing for a reason he couldn't quite pinpoint, and smiled to himself for the rest of the hour. He was so distracted that he hardly paid attention during Jessica Jones, and by the time the episode ended he realised he'd missed most of it and had to rewatch the entire thing. As inconvenient as it was, he found he didn't really mind.

 

*

 

It was almost one in the morning by the time Steve received what was possibly the most anticipated text of his adult life:

_bucky: i kno its late but i promised u an update.._

_steve: tell me before i spontaneously combust, bucky, come on_

He waited with baited breath while the small icon in the bottom left corner indicated that Bucky was typing, chewing nervously on his lip. He couldn't help but let out a yell of excitement when the text finally came through, almost throwing his phone clear across the room as his fist pumped the air.

_bucky: SHE SAID YES_

 

 


	19. Tell Me No

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are then, penultimate chapter. which is weird because i've literally been writing this for almost two years now and it's been looming over me like a horrible dark cloud and it's finally almost over- i'll be sad of course but also kinda relieved as, believe it or not, writing without a deadline is really nasty. it means i put off writing for literally months on end because nobody's there to tell me not to. for which i do apologise, seriously, because i know how sporadic and random my updates are lmao
> 
> however, this update is anything but random, because i've left it til today as a birthday present for one of my favourite ever people- you know who you are. <3
> 
> as always, love you all lots like jelly tots x
> 
> -cat

"Thing is," Bucky was saying skeptically as he twirled his pen in a complex spiral around his fingers, "I'm not entirely sure what the students would _gain_ from that experience. Or what _you_ would gain."

"It's an annual thing," Darcy shrugged, leaning back in her expensive swivel chair that she somehow managed to convince Principal Fury to get for her. "I guess it's more for tradition than anything else."

"How long has it been going on for?"

"Longer than I've been here," Darcy said. "It's just a bit of fun, man, lighten up. Live a little." 

"I'm not saying it won't be fun," Bucky said defensively, "I'm just questioning the morals behind it. I mean, why are we encouraging the kids to burn all of last year's work? What if they need it? It just seems counter-productive."

"I dunno, I guess it's like an outlet for them. It's only for the seniors. Didn't you burn all your papers and stuff after you left high school? Throw them into the ocean or something? Put all of it through a paper shredder?"

"I'm actually pretty sure it's all still in boxes at my parents' house." _At least, it used to be._

Darcy rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Are you gonna come or not?"

Bucky sighed. "When is it?"

"Two weeks on Friday."

"And it's only for an hour or so?" Bucky leaned forwards on his elbows, resting them on her tall receptionists desk. 

Darcy shrugged again, turning back to her computer. "Yeah. You should really come, dude, _everyone_ comes. It's a real good time, I swear."

Bucky couldn't really think of a reason not to go that wasn't simply 'I don't want to', so instead he gave in.

"Okay, alright, I'll come."

Darcy perked up immediately, "Yay! Oh, it's gonna be so much fun. Fury always lets the teachers drink as long as it doesn't get too out of hand-"

"Wait, we can drink?"

Darcy gave him a look. "Yes, I just said that."

"Why didn't you open with that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Good point, I clearly should've. That's the most motivating factor for you to come, isn't it."

Bucky grinned toothily at her as he picked himself up off the couch in the corner of the receptionist's office. "I'll be there, don't you worry. Have you seen Nat around?"

"Last time I checked, she was in the library with Clint and they were trying to be discreet about picking a wedding venue."

Bucky checked his watch; he didn't have another class to teach until 2:00, which left him with another entire hour of freedom. "Okay," he said as he reached for his bag, "I'm gonna go pay them a visit I think. See you later?"

Darcy winked at him, reaching for the muffin he'd left on her desk as a thank-you present for helping him out with some paperwork. "Later, history man."

As Bucky left reception he found himself caught up in the sea of students escaping fifth period, which made his journey to the library at least five minutes longer than expected. He did finally get there, gnawing frustration at the stupidly slow pace of students procrastinating getting to class beginning to fade by the time he reached the front desk.

Clint must be able to read minds. "Got absorbed by the kids, huh?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, dropping his bag down beside the desk and leaning against it. "Can't they just walk to class at a regular speed?"

"That goes against everything they've been taught," Natasha pointed out from her seat next to Clint behind the desk. "Waste as much time as possible and all that jazz."

Bucky sighed. "Still."

"You're not teaching now?"

"Nah, I've got an hour." Bucky double checked his watch just to be sure. "Don't you have a class?"

Natasha shrugged. "We were supposed to have a guest speaker but she cancelled and I hadn't prepared so I gave everyone an hour off."

"Bet they loved that," Bucky commented, glancing around at the nearly empty library. "Jesus, where is everyone?"

Clint raised an eyebrow. "You really don't come in here that often, do you."

"Is it always like this?"

"Um, yeah."

"Oh."

There was a brief silence, filled only by the sounds of one kid's aggressively loud breathing and by Clint tapping away at his keyboard.

"So," Natasha said, leaning forwards and lowering her voice slightly. "Did you see Pepper this morning?"

Bucky shook his head. Clint made a face but didn't look up from his computer.

"She had a fight with Tony last night," Natasha continued, "about something to do with his company. She seemed really down."

Bucky frowned. "What was the fight about?"

"I dunno, she didn't tell me."

"Come to think of it," Bucky mused, "Tony seemed a little off yesterday..."

"Guys, it's really none of our business," Clint pointed out. "Not that I don't love a good gossip, because I do just as much as the next person, but this time it seems a little personal."

Bucky gave Natasha a look. "He's actually right," he found himself agreeing.

Natasha pouted. "I wanna know what's going on."

"So talk to Pep about it."

"Maybe I will," she said slowly, leaning back into her chair. "Maybe I will."

"So Darcy said you were looking for venues earlier?" Bucky prompted, leaning further forwards across the desk with a sly grin. "Any luck?"

Natasha rolled her eyes and Clint just sighed heavily.

"No," he said, "this is a lot more complicated than I thought it would be."

"You know," Bucky said thoughtfully, "One of my brothers is a wedding planner, I'm sure he-"

Natasha shoved a huge purple dossier into his hands, looking relieved. "Oh thank god. He's hired."

Bucky nearly dropped the thing; "I'd actually have to _ask_ him first, Nat-"

"If he could do it," Clint interrupted, shooting Natasha a look, "it would be great, but Tasha's not going to get worked up about it because we're two very chill people and we're not gonna freak out about this. Right?"

Natasha sighed. "Right."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "That a new mantra?"

Clint just shook his head, "Don't even ask."

"I didn't know planning a wedding would be so stressful," Natasha was complaining as she ran her hands through her hair. "I thought it would be pretty easy, ya know?"

Bucky gave her a sympathetic look. "It'll be worth it though," he reminded her, "You gotta think of the end game here."

Natasha and Clint smiled at each other, and Bucky couldn't help but smile with them. His two best friends in the whole world were getting married, and as weird as his life was about to become because of it he literally couldn't be prouder.

"I can't wait to get smashed off champagne at your wedding."

Natasha furrowed her brows; "No champagne for you."

"But-"

"Oh come on," Clint said, "he can have a _bit_."

"Yeah," Bucky argued, "I can have a bit."

"No you can't, champagne does weird things to you."

"It does not!"

"It does a bit," Clint told him.

Bucky frowned. "But it's your wedding. I'm your best friend, need to get wasted and give emotional and touching speeches about the pair of you while standing on a table."

"You'd fall off," Natasha said, rolling her eyes.

"So?! It's all part of the wedding experience. Trust me, I've been to loads of them." This was a lie; he'd been deployed during each of his siblings' weddings and missed them all. But Natasha and Clint didn't know that."

"You haven't," Natasha pointed out.

Okay, maybe they did know.

Bucky frowned. "Fine. But my point still stands."

"You're back on the antidepressants as well, James, you really shouldn't be drinking too much."

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"Have you started planning the bachelor party yet?" Clint interrupted, clearly trying to change the subject.

It worked, but only because Bucky had completely forgotten about a bachelor party. "Oops. Uh, no." There was a pause. "I can't until you've set the date."

"We have," Natasha pointed out, "I think."

Clint turned to her. "Have we?"

Natasha shrugged. "I thought we agreed on early July, didn't we?"

"Oh yeah, we did actually."

"We need to do the invitations as well," Natasha groaned. "Jesus, this is such an effort."

"It'll be worth it," Clint told her, "I promise."

"It better be," she grumbled.

Bucky snorted. "That's the spirit, Nat."

"Shut up," she told him, "I'm allowed to be stressed over this."

"Yeah, stressed is fine, angry and depressed is not fine."

"I thought that was your thing," she shot back, and Bucky threw his head back in a laugh, too accustomed to his best friend's sense of humour to take offence.

"Angry? Me? Really?"

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah, you're a docile little puppy you are. No temper at all."

"Shut up," Bucky chuckled. "Anyway look, point is, it'll all work out fine. I'll drop my brother a message when I get home and ask if he'll help you out, okay?"

Natasha sighed. "Okay. Thanks James."

"It's no problem." He glanced at his watch. "I should get back to my room, got some bits and pieces to do before my next class. Catch you guys later?"

Natasha smiled at him; Clint gave a small salute.

"Later Barnes."

Bucky nodded a goodbye before heading out of the library towards his own classroom, which was only a couple of doors down. Not in the mood for putting up with students hiding in there, he found himself praying for solitude as he pushed open the door, even briefly closing his eyes:

"Mr Barnes? Uh, can I still be in here?"

_God damn it._

 

* 

 

"I can't believe this year is almost over already," Steve said with a shake of his head, letting the paper he was reading fall into his lap.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him from the small kitchenette on the other side of the staff room. "You say that every year."

"Okay, but this year went _super_  quick. Don't you think?"

Sam shrugged, turning back to the coffee pot. "Kinda. I dunno, I think time just goes faster as you get older."

Steve thought about his upcoming 30th birthday and shuddered. "I hope it doesn't get faster than this. It's freaking me out enough as it is. Feels like September was last week."

Sam turned around again, giving him a look of mock horror. "Wait, it wasn't?"

"Ha. Good one."

"How are you not drowning in grading?" Sam asked him as he sat down at the small wooden table, seeing Bruce Banner's excessive pile of completed exam papers resting precariously on the edge of the table. "Most people got almost a hundred papers to mark by Tuesday and you're sitting there reading the fucking Daily Planet."

"It's the Economist, first of all, and second there's not a lot to grade in P.E," Steve pointed out, lifting up his magazine to prove it. "So I'm bettering myself by expanding my political knowledge instead."

Sam shook his head. "Pompous ass."

"I take that as a compliment. You going to the thing on Friday?"

"The bonfire?" Sam shrugged. "Of course, I go every year. Why, are you not?"

"No, I am. Just wondering." Steve tried to be subtle as he asked, "Who else is going?"

Sam wasn't thick, and he picked up on Steve's drift almost immediately. "He is, if that's what you're asking."

Steve had the grace to blush. "I wasn't."

"Yeah you were."

"I don't care if he's going."

"Yeah you do."

"In fact, I'd like it more if he didn't go."

"No you wouldn't."

"You don't know that!"

"Yeah I do."

Steve let out a loud and pointed sigh. "Who _else_ is going?"

"Tasha, Clint, Banner, Stark. Darcy and Jane and Thor. Everyone really, except for Fury himself."

"Why's that?"

"He's got some urgent meeting with the board the next day or something; said he didn't want to turn up smelling like whiskey and bonfire."

Steve snorted. "That's bull."

"Right? My best guess is he's got a date or something with his wife."

"He's married?"

"I guess so; no one's ever actually asked him. But he wears a ring."

"Hmm..."

Sam shrugged. "Anyway, it's gonna be a good one. Tony's trying to get Fury to agree to fireworks this year."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "That sounds dangerous, no way he's gonna get the green light on that."

"I dunno man, Tony's pretty good with Nick. Gets away with a lot more than the rest of us."

Steve snorted. "Can't argue with that. But even still, if he gets the ok-go on the fireworks, I'll give you five bucks."

Sam grinned back. "Done." 

 

*

 

By the time Steve arrived, the bonfire was already in full swing. He'd always thought it was an odd tradition, but the students seemed to love it and to be fair so did the teachers. Seeing as it wasn't technically a school-monitored event- considering swarms of parents always turned up to keep an eye on their kids- Principle Fury would always let the teachers drink on the sly as long as it didn't get out of hand, and so when he found his gang of friends he wasn't surprised to find that they were all at least 30% friendlier than usual.

"Steve!" Clint exclaimed, practically launching himself at the taller man, "I thought you wouldn't come!"

"I come every year," Steve laughed as he tried to pry Clint off him, but the librarian wouldn't budge. "Sorry I'm late, guys."

"We missed you," came _that voice_ , that smooth, innocent, liquid voice that Steve knew he would hear and recognise even if he was deaf as a post. His eyes found Bucky and he smiled, relishing in the grin that flashed his way back.

"These two," Natasha announced, putting one arm around Bucky's shoulders and using the other to drag Clint away from Steve, "are already drunk. If you couldn't tell."

"Kinda could," Steve admitted with a grin, and Clint pouted at him. 

"Aw come on now, we're having fun! We don't get drunk, we have fun. And we're having it. Lots of it."

"You're worse than me," Bucky told him with a smirk.

"I resent that."

"Where's everyone else?" Steve craned his neck to get a better look around.

"Over there by the fire pit," Natasha explained, pointing. "Me and James got turned around trying to corral Clint."

By this point Clint had already marched over to where several parents were chatting and had injected himself into the conversation.

"Makes sense," Steve shrugged, trying very hard not to watch Bucky as he lit a cigarette and let it hang from his lips for a moment as he struggled to put the lighter back into his pocket.

"My jeans are too tight," he complained to no one in particular, cigarette slightly affecting his ability to speak clearly. "I've put on more weight, fuck's sake."

"Good," Natasha said curtly. "You were starting to look like a skeleton."

"Oh thanks Nat."

"No problem babe."

"I should start going to the gym again."

Steve didn't say what he was thinking, and Bucky tried to pretend he didn't notice his silence, and Natasha picked up on all of it.

She rolled her eyes. "You look fine, Jesus Christ. This isn't high school."

"I was fat in high school," Bucky pointed out.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot."

"I need a drink," Steve announced, "has anyone got any-"

"Rogers, you made it!" Sam appeared out of nowhere to clap him on the back, flanked either side by Darcy and Jane. "Didn't think you would."

"Missed my bus," Steve explained, smiling at both of the women. "Good night so far?"

Sam shrugged. "Can't complain really. However, have got some incredible news for you."

"What's that?"

"Remember how you said if Stark was given permission for fireworks you'd give me a fiver?"

Steve stared. "No way."

Sam's grin widened and he held out an upturned palm. "Five bucks, if you will."

"You're fucking joking. Really? He got a yes?"

"You bet he did, cowboy. Now pay up or lose my trust and friendship forever."

Steve groaned loudly as he reached into his wallet for the money. "I hate you and I hate Tony. And I hate Fury for making me lose a bet."

Sam laughed, plucking the five dollars out of Steve's hand with a gracious "Thank youuuu!"

A hip flask was thrust into Steve's still-outstretched hand. He looked up at Darcy, who was grinning knowingly at him. "You look like you need it."

He sighed mournfully, "I do, thank you. What's in it?"

"Liquid gold," she said seriously, and hell, Steve didn't really care what it was.

He raised the flask to his lips and took a swig, downing at least half of the contents in one.

Darcy's lips curled into a grin, and when he glanced around Sam was giving him an amused look.

Bucky was watching him, he noticed, and when their eyes met he had to make a conscious effort not to flinch. "What?"

Bucky shrugged innocently, taking a long drag of his cigarette. "Nothin'."

It was then that Clint suddenly reappeared, can of beer in tow. "Tasha come here a minute! I wanna introduce you to these people!" He grabbed her arm

Natasha rolled her eyes, allowing herself to be dragged over to the group of parents that Clint had been talking to before.

Sam laughed as he watched them go. "I love drunk Clint. He's so friendly."

"Yeah," Darcy said sarcastically, "Sober Clint is _never_ friendly." 

"Your sass is not appreciated," Sam grinned.

Darcy winked at him.

"Can we go over to everyone else?" Bucky said suddenly, "I wanna say hi."

"I'll come with you," Steve offered.

Bucky smiled at him and part of Steve's soul died a bit.

The pair made their way over to the bonfire in silence, dodging excited seniors as they carelessly tossed piles and piles of work that had taken them years to collect into the inferno, cheering as it burned. There was something very final about it, Steve noticed; this was a chapter in the kids' lives that they could finally move on from, after years of working for it. Most of them would go on to college, or to get good, solid jobs with their private education. At least, he hoped they would. Most of the faces illuminated in red he recognised; Wade Wilson, Peter Parker, Bucky's younger brother's girlfriend. They were growing up, he realised, which was weird because he'd taught most of them since they were just thirteen.

"Well look who it is," Tony Stark was grinning, "Steve Rogers finally made it."

"You bet I did," Steve laughed, taking Tony's outstretched hand and giving it a shake. "I heard you managed to get fireworks on the menu; good on you."

"It wasn't even hard," Tony bragged, "I just had to beg a little, promise I wouldn't set anything on fire and voila- the greatest senior send-off since Grease."

"You've clearly never seen Grease 2," Bucky deadpanned, and Steve couldn't contain the snort of laughter that left his lips.

"I, in fact, have not," Tony agreed, nodding towards Bucky. "But apropos of that comment I think I will. Now, who wants to help me set off the fireworks?"

"Bucky," Clint's voice came shouting from across the field, "Hey _Bucky_ , I have _vodka_ now!"

Bucky quickly excused himself and jogged away, to no one's real surprise but to Steve's slight disappointment.

He exchanged a look with Sam, who in turn just rolled his eyes.

"Leave it, buddy. You'll see 'em later. Fuck it, Stark, I'll help." He glanced back at Steve. "Let's do fireworks, yeah?"

Tony was grinning widely at him; he looked like the Cheshire cat. "You in, Rogers?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I paid five bucks for 'em, might as well help set 'em up."

Sam clapped him on the back; "That's the spirit."

"If I end up on fire, just know that I'll kill you."

"I've only ever caused an accidental fire that one time."

"You- just shut up, Tony."

 

*

 

By 12:30, most of the students (or ex-students) had left; either with parents, or to go out elsewhere. Steve had heard one of the kids talk about a house party, and seeing as they were all too young to drink legally he assumed that was probably where most of them had ended up. Most of the staff, too, had already left; save Tony, whose job it was to take care of all the hassle with the firework equipment, and Bruce, who was trying to douse what remained of the bonfire in water. And also Steve, Natasha, Clint and Bucky. For an entirely different reason.

"I can't believe you drove here if you _knew_ you were going to drink-"

"I never have enough cash for the bus, Nat, you know that! I _had_ to drive. Didn't think I'd be drinkin' quite this much, though..."

Natasha was glowering at Bucky as though he was solely responsible for the 3rd Reich. "That's not an excuse. I could've given you a lift, or-"

"He doesn't like lifts!" Clint suddenly exclaimed from approximately three inches away from Natasha's ear, causing her to jump slightly. "Too tight," he halfheartedly explained moments later when Natasha turned her heated glare on him instead.

"He's right," Bucky agreed as he hopped up to sit on the hood of his car, swinging his legs absently back and forth. "I don't like them."

"Told you!"

"Oh my god."

"I can sleep in the car, Nat, it's fine! Or I can walk!"

"I'd bring you home with us but I can only handle one drunken man at a time-" as if to prove her point, she yanked Clint back to her side by the back of his shirt as he looked as though he might wander off into the distance.

"I can drive him home," Steve offered, picking up on her hint as Natasha looked like she was ready to kill.

Natasha raised an eyebrow; "Are you sure? You had that drink at the start-"

"I'm fine," Steve promised, "Really. I don't mind. I can just as easily get the bus from his apartment."

"If you're sure..."

Steve forced himself to smile at her. "I am. C'mon, Buck, I'm driving you home."

"Don't wanna go home. Oh wait I know, let's go dancing!"

"Don't be a prick," Natasha snapped, grabbing hold of Clint's wrist as he tried to run towards a passing cab. "Get in the car."

Bucky pouted. "I'd rather not do that."

"Please," Steve pleaded, "I wanna go home. And I can't do that 'til you're home safe."

"I'm a big boy, I can get there myself."

"I'm not letting you drive, or walk, or annoy some poor stranger to give you a ride. You've already annoyed Steve enough to do it. Just get in the goddamn car, James."

" _No_."

"James," Natasha said through gritted teeth, "Get. In. The. Car." Silence, and then, " _Now_."

The dark-haired man frowned, but the arguing stopped. Giving Natasha a petulant look he swung himself into the passenger side, slamming the door behind him, and folded his arms across his chest.

Natasha rolled her eyes, keeping a firm grip on Clint's arm in case he tried to run away again. "Thanks again, Steve."

Steve's mouth had gone dry; he'd changed his mind about this being a good idea. "It's not a problem."

"He'll appreciate it when he's sober."

"I'm sure."

"Drive safe." 

"I will." Steve slid into the driver's seat with ease, despite never having actually driven Bucky's terrible car before. "Well, I'll try, anyway."

It only took him about three minutes to familiarise himself with the layout of the vehicle before he felt comfortable enough to drive it, and with Bucky still giving him the silent treatment, he figured he might as well put the radio on as they pulled out of the car park and on to the main road.

As Steve drove he couldn't help but glance over to his right every now and again, eyeing the drunken mess in the passenger seat beside him. Bucky's hair was falling out of its already messy bun, leaving long and irregular strands to frame his face and other strands to just stick out for seemingly no reason. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow to show his tattoo and there was dirt on his hands from the hood of the car. He was leaning back comfortably into the seat, eyes closed, cigarette hanging from his lips and humming quietly along to the radio. He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the armrest and Steve wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to fall in love with anyone else- this was it for him, he knew. It was Bucky or it was no one, it was perfect or it was nothing, it was the two of them against the world and so far the world was winning.

"You missed the turning," Bucky hummed as he opened his eyes finally, glancing around. "It's back there."

"Oh," Steve said, trying to keep his voice from becoming hoarse. "Yeah. Sorry."

They finally reached Bucky's apartment, and Steve pulled up on the curb and switched off the engine. He cleared his throat. "Well, uhh, here we are-"

"Come upstairs with me," Bucky said flippantly, climbing out of the car and slamming the door shut behind him.

Steve could feel his face turning red as Bucky stared at him through the car window. He opened the door; "I dunno Buck, I should probably get going-"

"Come up," Bucky said again, resting his elbow on the roof of the car and leaning forwards, forcing Steve back into his seat slightly so that they didn't touch. "I _want_ you to come up. We never talk anymore." 

"We're talking now," Steve said weakly, very conscious of the fact that Bucky was drunk and this would probably not end well.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Not what I meant. _Please_ , Stevie. Just come have a coffee or something."

Steve weighed the negatives and the positives in his head; he did _want_ to go upstairs, into Bucky's apartment, where Bucky lived and slept and- but, he shouldn't. Not really. They didn't have that type of relationship anymore.

But then again, this could be their chance to start rebuilding what they had. Even if it started off just as friends. Because they _were_ getting better, they could talk now without it being really weird, and Steve didn't feel like his head would explode quite as hard if Bucky so much as looked at him. So what harm could it do, really?"

"Fine," he sighed after a few moments of deliberation, and Bucky's face lit up.

"That's my boy," he smiled, and Steve immediately regretted it. He should've said no, this was going to be bad.

But he'd made his decision now, and so he got out of his car with only a little bit of real regret.

Bucky led the way up the stairs to his apartment; still not taking the elevator, Steve noticed, even though by now it had surely been fixed. When they reached the door he fumbled with the key; Steve moved to help him but by the time he tried to take the key off him Bucky had managed it. He pushed open the door and strode inside, dropping his jacket unceremoniously on the floor and tossing his keys onto the coffee table with such effortless ease that it almost made Steve smile. He caught himself however when Bucky span around;

"Coffee then?"

Steve nodded. "I have-"

Bucky snorted. "I know how you take your coffee, Steve, I'm not _that_ drunk." He disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Steve speechless and standing not unlike a statue in his hallway.

"Make yourself comfortable, then," came a slightly impatient voice from the kitchen, and Steve quickly shifted back into gear. He took off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair, like he always used to do, and felt a small pang of loss. Being here under these circumstances just felt wrong, and he couldn't shake the sense that this was a very very bad idea.

He could hear Bucky humming from the kitchen and he sighed; this was going to be incredibly difficult. All he had to do was keep his head, not let things get too out of hand (Bucky was drunk, obviously), and make sure he didn't accidentally say something stupid. How hard could _that_ be, right?

The only problem was, if anything happened he didn't think he could stop himself. He didn't think he'd even want to try.

 

*

 

Bucky returned, mugs in hand, to see that Steve had settled himself onto the couch, and the sight was so achingly familiar that it hurt. He passed one of the mugs to Steve, ignoring the small jolt of _something_ in his chest when their fingers brushed.

"Huh," the blond said, "You _do_ remember how I take my coffee."

Bucky rolled his eyes as he sat down next to him. "You're fussier than you like to think, you know."

The corners of Steve's lips quirked into a small smile, and Bucky definitely didn't notice. "I know."

He was drifting around in that haze of drunk-but-not-quite, where everything is slightly fuzzy but still coherent. He was completely aware that Steve sitting next to him on his couch at 1am was weird, but he didn't feel it somehow- and if he did he didn't care. It was comfortable, _easy_ , having him here. It was like a part of the person he'd been before his birthday had come flying back and slotted itself back into his heart- and that was dumb and ridiculous and so cliche that it was embarrassing but it was truth, it was gospel, and it was Steve. And god, he must be more drunk than he thought he was, because his interior monologue is waxing poetic about his heart being a puzzle and Steve being a piece of it and sober Bucky would _never_ think something that sappy, let alone say it out loud.

Wait.

Oh no.

Bucky slowly turned to face Steve, who was staring at him as though he'd suddenly grown a second head. His face had turned scarlet, and the hand holding the mug was trembling slightly.

Bucky wanted to punch himself in the face. "I, uhh. I said that all out loud, didn't I."

"Little bit," Steve said hoarsely, and Bucky groaned loudly, coffee sloshing over the rim of his mug as he collapsed back into the couch.

"I'm sorry, I made it weird. I didn't mean to make it weird." He closed his eyes, praying for spontaneous human combustion.

"You're drunk," Steve said, still sounding uncomfortable. "People say stuff when they're drunk that they don't mean."

 _But I do mean it_ , Bucky thought, but he said nothing. Instead he nodded, turning his head and opening his eyes to look at Steve again. "If it's not too awkward now, I really would like you to stay for a bit." He paused, licking his lips to get rid of the dryness before adding, "I've missed you."

"We see each other almost every day," Steve said weakly, but Bucky shook his head.

"You know what I mean."

Another silence.

"I've missed you too," Steve said quietly after a while, and Bucky found himself looking up at the man for a third time. 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You're not just saying that 'cause I'm drunk, right?"

"No." Another pause. "Well, it helps that you're drunk. Not as embarrassing for me."

"That doesn't help me," Bucky muttered, and Steve let out a snort of poorly-contained laughter.

"No," he agreed, "I guess it doesn't."

"So how's things?" Bucky said after another few seconds of uncomfortable silence. 

Steve raised an eyebrow into his coffee. "They're good," he said slowly. "What about you?"

Bucky shrugged his shoulders. "Could be worse."

"That's... nice."

"Mm."

Yet another silence. Bucky wanted to yell.

Steve cleared his throat. "Maybe, um, I should just-"

"Don't go," Bucky said quickly, and then much quieter: "Please."

Steve sighed. "Buck, why am I here? Really? It's not just 'cause you _miss_ me." He sounded almost _harsh_ , surprisingly so, and Bucky found himself cringing slightly back into the couch, desperately wishing he was slightly more sober so he could handle this better.

"I... don't know," he said finally, gripping his mug so tightly that his knuckles went white.

"Is something wrong? Do you need to talk about anything?" Steve leaned slightly closer, and Jesus, now he looked _concerned_. "Because if you do then I'm-"

"It's not that," Bucky interrupted, shaking his head. "No, Stevie, I really have just missed you. I wish we could just..." He gestured around the otherwise empty apartment with his free hand. "You know, hang out. Like we used to before."

Steve was looking at him as if he was crazy. "We can't," he pointed out, and Bucky let out a sigh of frustration.

"I _know_ , damn it, but can't we try?"

"Where has this sudden need to be close again come from?"

"Nowhere! Honestly." Bucky slumped back again. "Really, pal. I just like your company is all."

Steve was chewing on his lip now, and Bucky really had to try and force himself not to watch. "We can't really do this," he admitted after a while, and before Bucky could interrupt he said, "You know why."

"I don't," Bucky said quietly, and Steve gave him a look.

"Buck, we broke up. Ages ago. And it wasn't neat and tidy, it was a fucking mess, and I know we promised to try and be okay with each other within reason but _this-_ " Steve pointed to his coffee, "-is _not_ within reason, Bucky, it's not."

"I thought we were getting better."

"We were," Steve said exasperatedly, before sighing, "We _are_. But this might be a little step too far."

"Because I'm drunk?"

"Because I'm here, and you're drunk, and no one else is around and I'm sitting on your couch in the same god damn spot that I used to take up when we were together and we can't do that anymore, we just can't. _I_ can't."

Bucky's lips twitched into a smile. "I didn't force you to sit there."

Steve glared at him. "I know."

"Are you mad at me?"

Another sigh, "Why would I be mad at you?"

"Jus' seems like you're mad at me."

"I'm mad at how you make me feel," Steve confessed, not without blushing a little, "but I'm not mad at you."

Bucky didn't know what to say to that, so he settled on saying nothing at all. He took another sip of his coffee, feeling the warmth of it spread through his chest as he swallowed. Or maybe that was something else.

"We could put the tv on?" He suggested after a while.

Steve looked up from his phone, "Huh?"

"I asked if you wanted to put the tv on."

"Oh," Steve blinked, and then, "Yeah, okay." 

They both reached for the remote control at the same time, causing their fingers to collide about an inch away from the thin piece of plastic lying in the no-mans-land in the center of the couch. Steve yanked his hand back immediately, like he'd been burned, but Bucky didn't so much as flinch. He picked it up and pressed 'on', flicking through the channels in silence and pretending he wasn't watching Steve out of the (admittedly blurry) corner of his eye.

"How's this?" He asked after a moment, settling on an old episode of Cake Boss.

Steve raised an eyebrow at him with a smirk. "Really?"

"What? I like this show." He let the remote fall back into the cushions.

He glanced over at Steve just in time to see the other man smile into his coffee, and that was enough to make him smile as well.

Bucky glanced around the apartment, feeling something warm and familiar travelling down his spine. Seeing Steve here, sitting in his space, as though he belonged here, it was doing weird things to Bucky's head. Out of nowhere a flood of memories washed over him and Bucky, in his slightly drunken state, was transported back in time; back to their first date, where they'd fucked against that wall there because they couldn't make it to a bed in time. Back to the time he'd tried to bake a cake for Nat's birthday, and he'd made a massive mess of the icing and Steve had been the only one to help him clean it up. Back to just a few weeks ago when he almost tried to kill himself, and the three of them fell asleep on the couch and when Bucky woke up, Steve's fingers were entwined with his for a reason he couldn't explain. And he really couldn't explain it, he couldn't explain any of it, but this man- this beautiful labrador puppy of a human being- had gotten caught in his core, his center, his heart and soul and _everything_ , really. And he missed not being able to express that feeling in ways that made sense to him, but he didn't get to do that anymore. They weren't close like that, they hadn't been in a while. But he was here, in his apartment, picking at a loose thread in the couch the same way he always used to, and Bucky could swear he could see his hands trembling with something like nervousness. And Steve being uncomfortable was something he needed to fix.

"Do you still use that?" Steve asked, interrupting his train of thought.

"Use what?"

Steve gestured to the piano in the corner, looking interested. "You used to play."

"Still do," Bucky admitted, "sometimes. Not recently though, I've had... well, other stuff on my mind."

Steve bit his lip, and Bucky could feel his resolve crumbling because god damn it, he wanted to kiss him.

Steve went back to watching tv, leaving Bucky to watch him in silence. And it was when Steve absentmindedly ran his thumb across his bottom lip that Bucky finally snapped.

"Fuck it," he swore quietly under his breath, leaning forwards to place his mug shakily down on the coffee table.

Steve didn't look away from the screen, "What?"

"Stevie, look at me."

"What are you talking-"

Bucky took a deep breath. "Tell me not to do this."

"Huh?"

"Tell me no, Steve," he practically begged.

Steve was staring at him in complete confusion. "I... Bucky, I don't-"

"Just tell me if I really have gone too far this time," he said weakly. And then in one smooth, fluid motion, Bucky reached up with one hand to cup the side of the other man's face and guided it towards his own, slotting their lips together for the first time in almost five months.

He wasn't quite sure what he expected, but for Steve to gasp into his mouth and grab him by the collar definitely wasn't on the list. His chest pressed flush against Steve's, and he was convinced that Steve could feel his heart beating through his shirt because he could almost definitely feel Steve's. Every emotion he'd ever felt in his life came flooding back to Bucky at once as Steve's mouth moved perfectly against his own, as he felt the other man's gasping breaths against his lips. One of Steve's hands slid into his hair and pulled, firm but gentle at the same time, exactly the way Steve knew he liked, and Bucky let out a breathless moan as he pressed himself closer.

Steve tasted like coffee and toothpaste and a tiny bit like vodka, and the smell of his lilac conditioner combined with all of the above made for an intoxicating cocktail that made Bucky's head spin even more than the alcohol had done. The kiss had quickly turned rushed and desperate, all tongue and teeth and mess as though they both knew that although there were figurative fireworks exploding inside Bucky's chest, it shouldn't be happening.

This shouldn't be happening.

Steve was the one to finally call time. He broke away, leaning back further when Bucky tried to chase his mouth, "No, Buck, wait. Stop. This is... Stop. Talk to me."

_He doesn't want this. Of course he fucking doesn't, why do I have to ruin everything?_

Their foreheads met, noses brushed, strands of hair entangled in front of their eyes while they sat on the couch, in silence except for the sounds of both men trying to catch their breath.

"I'm sorry," Bucky breathed quietly, closing his eyes but not moving away. "I just... Stevie, I'm drunk, alright? I'm drunk and sentimental and- Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean... Sorry."

When he opened his eyes again, Steve looked faintly ill. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "You're... Drunk. And you didn't mean it."

"Yes," Bucky said, relieved, "Exactly."

But neither of them could bring themselves to move away and so they remained clinging to each other on the couch, one of Steve's hands still entangled in Bucky's hair and foreheads still pressed together.

"Your hair's got so long," Steve all but whispered.

Bucky let out a short laugh. "You've had yours cut."

"I should really go now," Steve managed, but as he tried to get up Bucky grabbed hold of his arm.

"Hang on." Bucky swallowed. "Um, just... just so you know, you... you mean a lot to me, Rogers. But I'm sorry about tonight, I would never... I don't want to ruin whatever friendship we're working on, okay?."

Steve stayed stock still for a moment, chewing on his lip, before he nodded and looked away. "You mean a lot to me too. I'll see you later, I guess."

"See you later," Bucky echoed as Steve pulled his arm out of his grip, picked up his jacket and practically fled out the door. It slammed shut behind him, reverberating slightly in the overwhelming silence he left behind. Bucky barely noticed that the tv was still on.

Bucky sank backwards into the couch with a long sigh, reaching up to rub at his face. "Shit," he said to himself over the sound of the theme tune of X Files. "Fucking... shit."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol sorry


End file.
